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the-ace-with-spades · 2 months

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(I adore fics where Johnny’s family loves Ghost from day one, but, you know…angst)

Soap and Ghost had been together for almost two years. They never name the relationship, really, but it's serious and they both know it.

Thing is, Johnny's seen Ghost's face a total of four times, counting Las Almas.

Well, he sees parts of it regularly, more than others. Ghost will either roll the balaclava up when they're reading together in bed or when they're eating. Sometimes, when Soap wants to go out and Ghost indulges him, he goes in public in just either a face mask or a gaiter and Soap can see his short wavy blonde hair sticking all over the place and

The four times he had seen Simon’s face in it’s whole — obviously, Las Almas; one time when he was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound and Johnny had to check; one time when they took a shower together, Simon stayed with his back toward him through most of it, but when they finished, he let Johnny dry off his hair; one time, when Johnny asked him to see him for his birthday presents, a few minutes after midnight.

Johnny wasn’t sure why exactly Simon didn’t want to show him his face. It wasn’t a trust thing — he trusted Johnny with more than his own life — and it wasn’t like he was ugly — he was downright sinful. He never drilled the topic because he didn’t care, if SImon wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready, but if he had to guess, it was all to do with identity and being seen. No one knew his face — people could know his name, Simon “Ghost” Riley, but they wouldn’t know the man behind the mask. Wouldn’t know the people behind Simon “Ghost” Riley.

(Johnny wasn’t completely off on the assumption — Simon didn’t want anyone to know his face because faceless people weren’t missed. Faceless graves — like his own — didn’t have people to leave behind, and faceless soldiers didn’t have loved ones to find and he was both. No one could get hurt if he remained faceless. Or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.)

And Johnny is okay with that — if Simon never showe him his face again, he’d still love him all the same. Johnny’s family? Not so much.

They’re supposed to be in Glasgow for five days total, leaving after Boxing Day. Johnny gives them all a warning, that Ghost is a bit shy and doesn’t like showing his face, he’ll most likely stay covered the whole time, he might be wearing a balaclava, or a mask, he probably won't eat at the table.

When they arrive at his parents house, it almost seems like everyone forgot. Like everyone thought it'd be more mild or that Johnny was exaggerating.

There are looks. There is silence. People can't stop staring.

His mam takes one look at Simon’s balaclava once they enter the living room and looks funny at them. “Ah thooght Ah tauld ye boays tae strip doon.”

“Mam, lea him alane,” he tries but he can tell that Simon is getting tense and his mam is getting tense.

His mam, who is usually the sweetest person ever, is uncharacteristically quiet and curt whenever Simon is around. Simon doesn't really know how to make it better — Johnny's never seen him so silent outside of stealth missions, he just stands there like a sore thumb, not making anything less awkward. He didn't expect him to — Simon's social skills are lacking and he loves him that way — but he expected his own family to not make such a big deal out of that mask.

His da is stern and silent, which is as disapproving as he gets. His sisters are a bit weirded out, but mostly focused on teasing Johnny, even making fun of the mask. With a stupid grin, his older sister asks, “Does he keep it oan in bed?”

Johnny doesn't say anything to that, even though his face feels red. His sisters stop laughing.

“He does?” When Johnny tries to step out of the room and avoid the conversation, his sister’s tone changes. “Hae ye e’en seen his face?”

“O’ coorse Ah hae,” he spits out. He doesn’t specify it was only four times — he doesn’t think it’d help. “And ‘s a bonnie ane, alricht.”

It doesn’t save the situation and his sisters are also weirded out and wary from then on.

The kids do not care — they ask maybe two questions, tilts their head as Simon explains and that’s it — and Johnny breathes a little easier as soon as his nieces push Simon outside to help them build a snowman.

The judgment doesn’t stop. Johnny’s blood boils any time it shows and even though Simon says it’s all fine, he can’t stop feeling angry about this. They just can’t get past the mask.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are difficult to Simon and Johnny knows it. He’s given him the option to omit the family dinner on both those days if he’s not feeling alright enough to spend those days in crowdy house filled with a flock of loud and cheery people of all ages.

Simon knows this. He also knows that if he says he wants to stay at Johnny’s flat for the time being, Johnny is going to insist he doesn’t have to go either, that he’d prefer to stay in with him and not go for the Christmas dinner. Which he also knows is bullshit — Johnny loves Christmas, loves spenidng time with his family, that was basically why he kept on insisting Simon couldn’t stay alone at the base for Christmas another year in a row. It was the main reason why he agreed to go with Johnny in the first place, he was pretty sure if he didn’t go with him, Johnny would insist he stays, too.

So Simon stays in for Christmas Eve — or rather goes to a pub while Soap spends the day with his parents — but insists they go to Christmas dinner.

His family is disappointed to see him there, to the point the usual manuevering around politeness and disapproving go onto a backburner.

“John said yer nae a fan o’ Christmas,” Johnny’s mum says to him pointedly.

“That’s right.”

“And yet ye’r ’ere,” she notes.

Johnny is far away from the earshot and he doesn’t want to lie to her so he admits, “If I didn’t come, Johnny would insist on keepin’ me company.”

“How come ye dinnae try to hae a bit mair cheer fur th' holidays then? Put a bit mair effort in for ma baby.”

Johnny notices and soon enough, he’s next to him, their arms brushing, Johnny’s hand on the small of his back. “Lea him alane, mam.”

“It’s fine,” he says even though it’s not fine. They deserve an explanation, even just to know what they son is getting himself into. “My family was murdered on Christmas Eve. I’m—I’m trying.”

The silence falls over the room — Johnny’s mum, dad, his sister, all present, not looking at them. Simon closes his eyes, tries to breathe.

Johnny rubs his back. “Let’s gae home.”

“I’m not ruining Christmas for you, Johnny,” he says. Before Johnny can deny it — and he knows he’d try — he tries to placate, “Let’s just have ourselves a minute to calm down.”

Maybe it’s the way his voice is perfectly levelled or the way his hand trembles as he squeezes Johnny’s, but he lets him leave the room.

He steps outside — to the backyard. Sits down on the step to the garden and lets the snow soak through his jeans and the top o his balaclava.

The kids come outside, tripping over Simon’s legs. They were all oblivious to the trails and errors of Simon’s integration into the family, so they approach him as always

“Whit's wrang?”

There’s just something so innocent in having a six-year-old girl covered from head to toe in pink and glitter worry about you. Simon would never admit it in front of Johnny, but he finds the accent cute.

Simon takes off the mask.

The kids all look at him and look at him, a bit unsure maybe a bit fearful — it can be a scary sight, he admits, the elongated, jagged smile that sticks to him no matter the mood, makes him more crazy than he already is — but only one of Johnny’s niece keeps her eyes on Simon’s face.

Shily, she asks, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replies. When she smiles, he smiles back.

Not anymore.

This is Johnny’s family. Simon can deny it all he wants, but Johnny’s seen him as family, as someone he’d leave behind, and it hadn’t been unrequited. He can’t hide behind a mask forever and maybe this was the kick he needed.

He steps back inside when his hands turn numb. He doesn’t put the mask back on.

Johnny’s eyes widen. “Simon?”

Simon just—smiles. He can feel the scars pulling on the corners of his mouth, the stiffer skin, but he’s not faceless. He’s not been faceless for a while.

Edit (29/03/24): This is now a WIP for a minimum 15k fic, titled don't shoot me, santa, that will have 4 chapters and will be posted (hopefully) later in the year

#this is like a very shortened version with some points cropped out #maybe this will be a full-blown fic at some point #who knows? not me for sure #idk maybe closer to christmas or sth if i have inspiration #i headcanon soap speaks scots whenever he's home/speaking freely and softens the accent otherwise #i love glasgowian accents but im not good at writing them so #ghoap #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #call of duty #q #charlie writes #op

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itsnotgray · 5 months

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gray’s fic recs

my tagging/recommendation system is a mess beyond the point of fixing, so i made a masterlist. (i’ll slowly be adding fics to this!)

- an asterisk is next to players who play for the ahl team of said nhl team

- if works focused on more than one person, they’re listed under the other people, but only tagged in the first one you see in the list.

- also, apologies if the links don’t work correctly, it is in fact my first time making a masterlist

NHL/AHL

Anaheim Ducks

Jamie Drysdale

hey roomie by @emaanemaa

- trevor and jamie threesome. that's right, that's all it took to get you to go read it.

Trevor Zegras

chameleon by @hischierhaze

- listen- if you're someone who, whether it be consciously or unconsciously, changes themselves and their personality for those around them, or you have a history of it- please read this. I promise you, you won't regret it.

now that we don't talk by @sc0tters

- it's a toxic relationship with trevor, of course I'm gonna eat it up (she might end with trevor... or she might not. you'll never know if you don't read it.)

hey roomie by @ emaanemaa (fic linked above under jamie)

the penalty box series by @starsandhughes

I- if you're not already keeping up with this series... where have you been? every update is laugh out loud hilarious, and leaves you itching for more.

cruel weather- apart of the penalty box series by @starsandhughes

cruel weather gets it's own link because of the amount of emotional damage this inflicted upon me.

Arizona Coyotes

Boston Bruins

Buffalo Sabres

Devon Levi

like it very much by @jackhues

there aren’t many devon fics (which there totally should be), but the way i squealed when i read this one. further affirmed the fact that i think he’d be the best bf.

Calgary Flames

Nikita Zadorov

that scar hurt by the way by @swissboyhisch

- listen…. i’m the farthest thing from a flames fan, and can wholeheartedly admit it was an adorable read.

Carolina Hurricanes

Chicago Blackhawks

Colorado Avalanche

Columbus Blue Jackets

Adam Fantilli

to you, my adamo by @hischierhaze

- it's adam's birthday + his debut, can you blame me for crying?

his return by @hischierhaze

-this made me cry. but in making this, i'm convinced anything kei writes with the fantilli brothers makes me want to cry from either just how sickeningly sweet it is, or of course, sadness.

tiny dancer au by @letsgetrowdy43

god when i say sunny and adam have my heart- i mean it. they’re sososo special to me.

Dallas Stars

Wyatt Johnston

our song by @lovinbarzal

hands down one of my favorite wy jo fics/au’s. it’s wyatt x a barzal sister, a pairing i wouldn’t have thought of, but works so well!

Detroit Red Wings

Edmonton Oilers

Florida Panthers

Matthew Tkachuk

waking up in vegas by @doc-pickles

- matty t x hughes!sister is a dynamic i didn’t know i needed.

Mackie Samoskevich*

perfect girl by @dmercer91

- this had me feeling things like no other... a big hint as to why? she's shared.

Los Angeles Kings

Alex Turcotte*

who does it better? by @harry-hollands

one of the cutest social media au’s in a while (technically has two parts, but they don’t have to be read together)

Minnesota Wild

Montreal Canadiens

Kirby Dach

here with you by @sc0tters

- it's amber's writing + kirby, what's not to love? (if that's not convincing enough, maybe the line, "I will follow you to the ends of the earth," is.)

Nashville Predators

New Jersey Devils

Jack Hughes

timeless by @babydollmarauders

- if I hadn't originally read this in the middle of the grocery store, I can almost guarantee that I would've cried from just how heartwarmingly adorable this is.

out by @babydollmarauders

- equipment manager x jacky boy- aka a trope I never knew I needed, but now crave after reading this.

ballad of a homeschooled girl by @babydollmarauders

- hands down one of the best pics I've probably ever read in terms of conveying emotion. my stomach was in knots the entire time, attesting to just how realistic the writing is.

never grow up by @aliaology

- i'm sorry but you're not human if you don't get even the tiniest bit emotional at any fic with "never grow up" as the song. BUT A FIC WITH THE BROTHERS? this rendered me emotionally unavailable for a solid 20 minutes.

medía management au by @babydollmarauders

the media management au is an ongoing series staring mr jack hughes and his lovely girl, dove! the updates always bring a a smile to my face, and more than likely make me laugh out loud.

4:41 am by @sweetestdesire

listen, as much as i adore brynn’s smut like no other, her fluffy, soft and sweet fics just do something to me. she writes them so detailed, and consistently has me craving for soft moments with a significant other (a significant other i do not have)

John Marino

stay for a while by @sc0tters

- when i talk about made me feel things, i mean it. amber never fails in writing panty-dropping smut, while also having an thought-out plot.

Luke Hughes

welcome back by @leaentries

- this literally made me swoon. a protective lukey- what's not to love?

nobody's love by @eyesthatroll

- my heart was in my throat while reading, and my emotions were all over the place. regardless of how emotional it left me, it was amazing and deserves all the love.

never grow up by @ aliaology (fic linked under jack)

- older hughes sister watches her brothers grow up + never grow up = tears

summer aches by @starry-hughes

- this fic makes me want a luke to take care of me when i get headaches, triggered by heat or not

what’s not to like? by @starry-hughes

- queen ellen and jimmy are a little apprehensive of you…

jack’s best friend by @lvrzegras

okay listen- any of the brothers x their best friends is great, but jack’s best friend x luke… it just hits different, yk?

Nico Hischier

I never could've seen you coming (I think you're everything I could've ever wanted) by @writingonleaves

- this is probably as close to a literary masterpiece as a fanfic posted on tumblr will ever get

will you take a moment? promise me this (that you'll stand by me forever) by @writingonleaves

- listen- it's apart of the universe she began in the fic above. I have the fic linked under nico (because the oc eventually ends up in a relationship with nico, as seen in the part above), but this is sososo found family heavy. if found family is your trope, then this is your fic

New York Islanders

Mat Barzal

it's nice to have a friend by @youunravelme

- put me through the emotional wringer in the best way possible.

winnie martin's favorite person by @ilyasorokinn

- god- i cannot even begin to describe how cute this is. all i can say, is that I need more pictures of barzy with kids... for science of course.

New York Rangers

Ottawa Senators

Philadelphia Flyers

Pittsburgh Penguins

Sidney Crosby

she was the (red) devil by @crosbyscurls

- hockey meets f1 is already a dream combination… but sid x f1? absolutely amazing

San Jose Sharks

Seattle Kraken

St Louis Blues

Tampa Bay Lightning

Toronto Maple Leafs

Vancouver Canucks

Quinn Hughes

these michigan summers by @lukevangelista

i feel like the only way your not aware this series exists, then your new here. because if you haven’t read this, where have you been? this is for sure one of my top three series’ on tumblr, finished or unfinished. will in fact, forever have my heart. (currently unfinished)

the sun to my moon by @ghostfacd

this fic is part of an au! i highly, highly recommend checking it out- quinny + a grumpyxsunshine trope, what’s not to love?

never grow up by @ aliaology (fic linked under jack's name)

- older hughes sister watches her brothers grow up + never grow up = tears

Vegas Golden Knights

Washington Capitals

Dylan Strome

it's never too late to come back to my side by @lukevangelista (a series)

- one of my recent favorites. particularly geared towards those who think back on old friendships (...and constantly overthink on whether you should reach out. spoilers- it's never too late)

Winnipeg Jets

NCAA

University of Michigan

Luca Fantilli

missing you, quietly by @bitchinbarzal

- emotional torture in the best way possible. i re-read a concerning amount

i lost him by @hischierhaze

- made me cry- but in a good way

baby 101- name reveal by @hischierhaze

- it's dad!luca... yeah that's right, now that you have that cute thought in your head, you kinda have to go and read it

I tell you that I think im falling back in love with you by @writingonleaves

- this fic is sososo special to me for so many reasons- and I think you should totally read this fic to figure them out... just saying

opposites attract au by @dmercer91

this is a link to the head anons for the au- but please go read this sweet au. luca and landen are one of the sweetest pairings.

Nick Moldenhauer

sundays are for textiles by @drewsbuzzcut

- super cute read, and it's apart of an even cuter au

all american lace by @drewsbuzzcut

- also apart of that super cute nick au she has- but this part was not so cutesy (it was at the end). had me on the edge of my seat, and tears building in my eyes. the type of angst you physically feel- but with the type of ending that makes up for it (trust me, it does!)

Mark Estapa

icy roads by @nicohischierz

the simplest explanation i can offer is that this broke my heart- but i loved it anyway!

Boston College

Gabe Perreault

princess!gf x gabe perreault by @yankstrash

- these two are on my mind at least three times a week. i aspire to become amelia- aka find someone who is as down bad for me as gabe is for “his meels”

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niki-phoria · 1 year

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‧₊˚✩ chishiya, arisu, and kuina's habits they get from dating you

warnings: ooc chishiya, mentions of blood, not exactly canon divergent but i kinda expanded on canon (??), kuina's mom being sick

a/n: most of these probably should've been full fics but i want to write more reactions so here we are

gn reader (no pronouns used)

requests open !! read my rules first

‧₊˚✩ chishiya

word count 411 jack of hearts chishiya >>>

playing with your hands

you pull the chair back, sliding into the seat next to chishiya. he’s sure to sit between you and niragi, leaning back in the seat. arisu stands awkwardly at the edge of the room. his gaze remains focused on the only person he’s seen before - chishiya.

chishiya raises his hand, waving at him similarly to the way he did in ‘tag.’ ann, mira, and kuzuryu sit on the other side of the table. aguni shifts across from kuzuryu, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. finally, hatter stands at the head of the table. he dramatically raises his arms.

“welcome beach executives,” he bellows before glancing over at arisu. “and potential executive.” he sighs, pushing his hair back and sitting down in the chair. “we are here to debate whether or not a new executive should be instated.”

next to you, chishiya subtly pulls his left hand from his pocket, reaching over to grab yours. it’s not an uncommon reaction, especially since you’ve become more comfortable in your relationship. he almost does it unconsciously as he casually intertwines your fingers together before stuffing your hands back into his pocket.

the meeting drones on around you. their voices all blend together as you impatiently wait for the meeting to conclude. after a few minutes of arguing, hatter stands once again. “it’s decided. arisu will be tested, and if he passes, the beach will gain a new executive. this meeting is concluded.” he walks to the door before glancing over his shoulder. “arisu, i’d like to speak to you more. do join me.”

you ignore arisu’s nervous look as you follow chishiya out of the room. both of you slip through the various different passageways further into the beach. he leads you to his makeshift workshop, only letting go of your hand to begin working on yet another kerosene bomb.

you lean back against the table as you watch him tinker away. once complete, he slowly feeds the mess of wires into the metal soda can. he passes it to you, hands holding yours for a second longer than necessary. you smile, setting it aside on the table. “you always do that.”

chishiya raises an eyebrow. “do what?”

“hold my hand.” he doesn’t react, instead looking away as he glances for another can. but the light flush on his ears is enough confirmation for you. he’s always searching for you, even when you’re standing right next to him.

always thinking of you

word count 456

the rest of the players crowd around into groups, forming little cliques. they nervously glance around at the other players when they aren’t taking turns turning around and exposing their symbol, relying on the trust of the group to be truthful.

you observe them from your place at a table in the cafeteria, silently watching. this is nothing new for chishiya - picking up on the little details about people is how he’s been able to survive in the borderland for so long. but as the games become increasingly difficult and your situation becomes more dire, you find yourself replicating his mannerisms.

chishiya glances over his shoulder at you momentarily before refocusing on the wall of snacks before him. it’s all junk food, but junk is better than nothing. you probably won’t be able to eat much while trying to complete the rest of the games and avoiding the king of spades, he reasons.

a woman stands at the edge of the shelves, watching him. he reaches out to grab a packet of cookies, opening the bag and taking a bite of one. he glances over at her before nonchalantly raising the packet. “you should try them,” he says. “they’re the best ones.” the woman doesn’t respond. instead, she simply slips back behind the shelf to where her group is.

despite chishiya’s insistence about his personal choice being the best cookies, he pauses when something catches his eye. this bag is a deep blue. it’s wrapped in plastic instead of the paper he holds against his chest. they’re vanilla. from the look alone he can tell that he won’t enjoy the artificial sweetness, but something makes him take a packet before he goes to find you. they’re your favorite.

chishiya silently sits down next to you, placing his packet of cookies on the seat beside him. you subtly move closer so your shoulders brush, leaning over to see what he picked. “i didn’t take you for the cookie type.”

“it’s good to know i can still surprise you, then.” his initial hesitance of which snack to choose immediately disappears as your face lights up when he slides the blue packet to you.

“i didn’t know they had these!” chishiya is unable to fully suppress his smile, allowing his lips to curl upwards slightly. “thank you.”

“i thought you would like them.”

“you know me so well,” you hum, opening the packet before holding out one for him. “want one?”

chishiya was right when he thought that he wouldn’t enjoy the artificial taste of the vanilla. but when you smile up at him, happily eating another, he realizes he’d be content to eat overly sweet cookies for the rest of his life - as long as it’s with you.

‧₊˚✩ arisu

constantly talking about you (pre-borderland au)

word count 425

“hey, check this out!” chota takes a packet of ramen from the shelf, holding it up. arisu squints, stepping forwards to read the words. the packaging is pink, decorated with a picture of the noodles and… strawberry?

karube reaches out to grab it, reading the words. “strawberry shortcake ramen?” he reads, raising an eyebrow at chota. “seriously?”

“why not?” chota shrugs, returning to look through the various options.

“sure, man,” karube chuckles. “whatever you want.”

arisu smiles, shaking his head. he picks out a bowl of instant ramen, tucking it in between his arm and holding it against his chest to cook later. from the corner of his eye, a different packet catches his eye. it’s spicy - spicier than he would normally eat. but it’s perfect for you. he doesn’t realize the small smile unconsciously spreading across his face as he imagines the scene.

going home to you after a day spent with chota and karube, pulling out the noodles, dancing around the kitchen together as you let them overcook on the stove, you teasing him as he tries to eat them and then has to desperately drink milk to soothe his burning mouth.

he’s brought back to reality when karube places a hand on his shoulder. he leans in with a raised eyebrow, kneeling down to be eye level with him. “are you crazy?” he teases, gesturing to the packet in arisu’s hand. “we all know you can’t eat that.”

“y/n will like it,” he says. he doesn’t notice the shared glance between chota and karube.

“wow, man, you’re whipped.” chota comments.

“seriously, i didn’t think it would get worse than that time he left in the middle of a match because y/n wanted to cuddle,” karube laughs.

arisu purses his lips, unable to deny their teasing. he knows he’s whipped, or a simp, or a dumb lovestruck fool, or whatever else people want to call him - but he doesn’t care. going home to you, kissing under your kitchen lights, falling asleep to a bad sitcom wrapped in your arms, it’s all worth it.

so instead of denying it or putting the ramen back, he lets them joke as he follows them to the register. he pays extra for the second packet before rejoining karube and chota by the window of the convenience store. “hey,” karube leans over to pat his shoulder. “in all seriousness, we’re glad you found someone like y/n. we’re proud of you.”

arisu smiles, refocusing on the bowl of instant ramen in front of him. “thank you.”

trusts you with his life

word count 701 got a little carried away whoops

usagi’s hand stays firmly on the boy’s shoulder, subtly standing in front of him. “don’t worry,” she whispers when she kneels down next to him. “i’ll protect you.” he nods a little before she stands up.

“we need to go,” you whisper. arisu nods, grabbing your hand as you follow usagi through the structure and up the stairs. other players chasing each other echo along the metal. arisu’s grip on your hand remains tight. he’s nervous- you can tell. he glances at you every now and then, pulling you through the different structures.

“queen’s turn ends. player’s turn begins.” the announcement chimes. you pant, leaning back against the metal. arisu never lets go of your hand, leaning down on his knees to catch his breath.

“we need to find the other players,” usagi says. “if we can convince them to help us then we can win this.” you nod, squeezing arisu’s hand. “let’s split up. we’ll find more people that way.”

“meet back here at every round.” arisu says. you note the area, before forcing yourself up, running off in search of the other players.

arisu curses as you follow him up the winding metal structures. it’s a dead end.you look down over the edge, and then over his shoulder. a chain hangs down from somewhere above. “you need to grab onto that chain,” you point. arisu looks at what you’re pointing at before looking back at you.

“are you crazy?”

“look, there’s nowhere else to go!” he seems unconvinced, looking down at the ground below. you reach over to hold his face in your hands, turning him to face you. “do you trust me?”

arisu nods immediately. “of course i do.”

“then i need you to grab onto the chain and swing. i’ll catch you, i promise.” he glances back at the chain before nodding.

“okay.”

the queen catches up to you seconds later, smirking as she pants. “looks like your luck has finally run out.” you push arisu behind you, standing between them.

“i wouldn’t call it luck.” she narrows her eyes at you, stepping closer. “arisu, now!”

he jumps off of the edge of the structure, grabbing onto the chain. you push the queen away, putting distance between yourself and her. you grab arisu when he swings back, helping him down from the chain as you begin running again.

once you’re sure you’ve lost the queen in the maze of her game, you give yourself a few minutes to relax. arisu leans back against the wall, panting. “thank you,” he whispers. you reach over to grab his hand, nodding.

you lean back against the metal railing for support. “this is the final round for the players,” the announcement chimes. “after this round, the game will end.” a man wearing a bike helmet nods at you before running off towards the left. you take his cue to go right, running to the area where you agreed to meet up with arisu and usagi, finding them already there. usagi pats your shoulder as you lean up to look up at arisu.

“there’s only two more players on the queen’s team,” she pants. “we can do this.” you nod, running through in search of any other players. you press the button on a man’s back, sending him to the ground from the shock. “sorry,” you whisper, kneeling down next to him to make sure he’s okay. you lean over the edge of the structure again, reading the scoreboard. 19 players vs. 01 queen. you let out a relieved sigh, making your way over to the area where you first entered the game.

a few other players are already there, standing around and watching the time tick down. the boy rushes over to your side, standing next to you. you place a hand on his shoulder, watching the timer. “it’ll be okay,” you whisper. he nods, eyes glued to the screen.

arisu rushes over to your side, quickly followed by usagi. he immediately pulls you into a quick hug. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, keeping him close to you. “y/n,” he sighs. “i’m glad you’re okay.”

“me too,” you pant. he presses a quick kiss against your temple.

‧₊˚✩ kuina

doing everything for two

kuina sets the pot over the makeshift stove she created, using the fire to heat the water. a box of noodles sits beside her as she waits for it to boil. the store is almost eerily quiet, the flickering overhead lights being the only other source of noise.

word count 532 there are literally NO kuina gifs and it makes me so sad ://

she pulls her knees up to her chest as she waits. when the water becomes uninteresting, she finds herself staring at the picture she took from the wall of her mother’s hospital room. she remembers that day clearly, valuing it as one of the most important moments of her life. she was younger when her mother had first been diagnosed. she nervously clutched the straps of her bag as the nurse guided her to the room, leaving them alone in the room. she remembers how her mother had gasped, eyes welling with tears before she wrapped her into a hug for the first time in years, whispering about how she was a beautiful young woman.

kuina remembers calling you in her car immediately afterwards, happy tears rolling down her cheeks. she remembers the excitement in your voice as she told you the good news and the taste of the noodles you surprised her with when she arrived home. that was the night she fell in love with you.

she sighs, refocusing on the pot of water. it’s boiling now. she slowly pours the noodles in, stirring them around with a pair of wooden chopsticks she found in the hospital’s cafeteria. it’s only once they finish cooking and she fishes them out of the pot that she realizes she has too much food just for herself. she made enough for two. enough for you.

she curses the tears that build in her eyes. the hope of you being alive fades with each day, let alone being able to find you. a noise at the doors of the store startles her. her body stiffens, anxiously peeking behind a shelf to see who’s there.

the breath escapes her lungs when she does. bloodied, dirty, and standing on shaky knees, you stand there. you lean against the wall to catch your breath. kuina clambers to her feet, rushing over to you. “y/n?”

your eyes blink open at the mention of your name. your voice is breathless when you speak. “kuina?”

she runs to you, wrapping you into a hug. you’re quick to reciprocate, hiding your face into her shoulder. “i was so worried about you,” she whispers, pulling away enough to brush the hair out of your face. “how did you find me?”

“i figured you would go to the hospital. when you weren’t there, i thought i would check the grocery store next.” kuina doesn’t notice the tears rolling down her cheeks until your hand brushes one away. “don’t cry, baby, i’m here.”

she smiles through the tears, nodding. “are you hurt?”

you shake your head. “i’m alright.”

kuina traces her hand along your jawline. she can’t wait any longer, pressing her lips against yours in a sweet kiss. you smile when she pulls away. “i made food. it’s your favorite.”

you press another peck against her lips, pulling her a little closer again. “thank you.”

always touching you

“hi,” you smile, lowering your head into a quick bow. they’re quick to reciprocate. “i’m l/n y/n.”

word count 527

“y/n,” kuina smiles, reaching out to grab your hand as you sit down beside her. there are two people sitting on the beach chair across from her. you recognize them as being the beach’s newest recruits.

“usagi yazuha,” the woman smiles. her hair is short, cut into a chin length bob. her forehead bangs frame her face nicely. she’s wearing a peach jacket and black biker shorts.

“arisu ryoehi.” his hair is longer than hers. he’s wearing a white t-shirt and blue swim trunks. they both look uncomfortable surrounded by the frenzy of drunk beach members.

“don’t worry,” kuina chuckles. “we don’t bite. there are drinks pretty much everywhere, and drugs, if you’re into that.”

“which games have you played?” you ask.

they detail how they first met during tag before meeting up again in a club game. kuina grows even closer to you through the course of the night as you laugh and joke around with your newfound friends. her arm interlinks with yours, body leaning into your side.

in the mix of shared drinks and laughter, she eventually ends up on your lap. you wrap your arm around her waist, both to hold her up as she leans against you and to keep her warm. you’re all too familiar of how cold the beach gets during the night, especially when your girlfriend is only wearing a bikini.

the night continues on, party raging around you. usagi had decided to find a room in the hotel once the ocean breeze became less of a slight annoyance and more of an unrelenting wind. the night continues to blur as kuina and arisu continue drinking and joking around together.

“you two are cute together,” arisu’s words slur together as he smiles at you. kuina reciprocates, taking another small sip of her beer.

“so are you two,” she smiles.

“ah, we’re not dating,” he sighs.

“really?” she cocks her head at him. “you should ask her out. she totally likes you!”

arisu nods to himself, contemplating. “maybe i will.”

“babe,” you whisper, running your hand against her side. “it’s getting late. we should head to bed.”

“you’re right,” she hums, finishing off the rest of her beer.

“i should probably get some sleep too.” arisu nods.

“the rooms are all unlocked. just pick one that’s empty. we don’t really keep track of room numbers or anything.” kuina wraps her arm around your shoulder, leaning into your chest.

“thanks,” arisu smiles. “it was nice meeting you guys.”

“you too!” kuina clings to you as you lift her body, carrying her away from the pool and into your shared room. you use your elbow to open the door before setting her body down on the bed. you set a bottle of water on the table beside her and prepare a trash can just in case before sliding underneath the covers beside her. “i love you,” she smiles, moving to lay on your chest. you pull the blanket up over her body, rubbing your hand against her back.

“i love you too.”

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darling-im-wonderstruck · 8 months

Note

hii!! could you write something where peter and reader go grocery shopping, then he gets lost in the store but it’s just super fluffy?? tysm :)

back to you | p.p.

synopsis : no matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, no matter the situation, you knew peter would always find his way back to you.

pairing : bf!peter parker x reader

wc : 589

warnings : flufffffff !! and peter being a chaotic idiot 😭

‎‎ ───── masterlist | request | navigation

a/n : hi ! sorry the fic is a little late this week again 😓, the title and summary is so dramatic given the fic LMAOAOSKSMJSND but anyways !!! this was based on @sacharinee’s grocery shopping headcanons ! please read m’s works, they’re all amazing :) <3 💞

y’know, grocery shopping can be pretty fun if you don’t just sigh and mope around.” you grin. peter on the other hand, had a pout on his face. he was avoiding you whilst making sure he was never further than three feet away.

“you didn’t let me get the chocolate covered wafers,” he mumbles, looking down. you couldn’t help but giggle at your lover’s antics. he’s been like this on the car ride to the grocery store and its only gotten worse once you arrived.

“we’re only here to buy our meals for the week, and you promised, no unnecessary purchases,” you called back to the promise he made before leaving. grocery shopping with peter was almost like babysitting a full grown adult, and you didn’t know if you were up for that today.

but alas, here you were.

“this is necessary! i’m starving,” he groans but he quickly follows it up with, “you’d let me get them if you love me.” a smile was slowly creeping up on his face.

you give him a soft peck on the lips (one gladly accepts), before saying, “i love youuu!” peter grins hopefully after hearing that. “but we are not getting those wafers,” you say, continuing your round throughout the grocery store, peter trailing behind you.

despite peter’s growing hanger, he manages to make himself helpful by grabbing heavy batches of items, placing them into your cart. you send him a smile of approval which makes peter all giddy and proud, suddenly, he’s in a pretty good mood.

his mood only improved once he saw samples, all laid out neatly on a nearby stall. he quickly glances at you to take note of where you are, and he’s off taking multiple samples of the same food so he can share some with you.

but as soon as he comes back to the bread and pastry section, you’re nowhere to be found.

at first, he isn’t too worried about it, he’s certain that you’d come back for him anytime now.

anytime now…

the panic really starts to settle in once thirty minutes have passed, he was starting to get looks, he’d been standing there alone, samples in one hand, phone in the other.

he’d tried calling, unfortunately for him, your phone was on silent.

he couldn’t wait any longer, at some point, he begun showing anyone he could see a photo of you, asking if they’d seen you anywhere. when he realizes no one’s seen you, the panic fully sinks in.

but really, you were lined up by the cashier, you hadn’t noticed when peter had left your side, but you thought it would be safe to assume that he was okay, probably looking for more samples.

unbeknownst to you, he was far from okay.

he paced back and forth in the dairy aisle, mumbling, running his hands through his hair, thinking of every possible outcome of you being separated.

“baby?” and when his head turns towards you, you could’ve sworn you saw tears beginning to form.

next thing you know, his arms are tightly wrapped around your waist and he’s peppering soft kisses on your shoulder.

“what’s wrong?” truthfully, you were starting to worry.

“i turned around and you were just— gone.” that’s when you broke, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, you burst into laughter.

“you, peter parker, are an idiot.” you say, a fond smile on your face, one he couldn’t help but mirror, “and, i hope these will make you feel better.”

you pull something out of your grocery bag, low and behold… “the chocolate covered wafers!”

taglist : (send me an ask/dm to be added !) @live-laugh-lovejoy @tomsholland2412 @parkerpeter24 @herpeanutzombie

a/n : tysm for reading :) pls reblog to support your writers !!! requests are open !

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exhuastedpigeon · 5 months

Text

Helllllo and welcome to my new Weekly Fic Recs!

This first one is going to be a little long since I’m going to rec my favourite fics that I’ve read so far in November. I’ll likely post a list weekly moving forward (probably Friday or Saturday) and will tag them as ‘Han’s Buddie Recs’ and 'Han's Weekly Fic Recs'

These fics are in order of longest to shortest and are separated into newly read, reread, and wips! Anything in italics is a comment from me.

Newly Read

and here, too, am i by Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars Teen || 41.1k Six months into their marriage, Eddie is still struggling to decide whether or not he wants more kids, when he knows Buck does. The universe may not scream, but it certainly talks.

I don’t have much else to say about this fic besides ‘it’s extremely great’

Tick Tick Boom by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky Teen || 30.4k Buck decides he doesn’t need therapy, reverts to some bad habits, and explodes. Or, the Breakdown Fic.

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by withmeornotatall/@chronicowboy Mature || 21.9k Buck gets reckless, eddie gets angry, they talk in all the wrong ways, and the universe decides to intervene

Divorce 2.0 era.

All The Work That Needs To Be Done by trysetmeonfire/@try-set-me-on-fireTeen || 14.6k Bobby dies. Eddie worries. Life goes on.

This fic made me cry on multiple occasions, reader beware that it will probably make you cry too. It’s beautiful.

Sixth time's the charm by CorgiQueen14/@corgiqueen14 Teen || 14.2k The mid-lawsuit time loop fic that you didn't know you needed.

I’m a hoe for a time loop

you had to kill me (it killed you just the same) by MonsterRae1/@monsterrae1Explicit || 12.4k The Hire to Kill Au. Buck's a hired assassin sent after Eddie, instead, he ends up falling in love.

Got Weird by Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars Explicit || 10.5k Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

The idiots in love tag was invited for this specific fic, I swear.

I wanna spend my forever like that by wikiangela/@wikiangela General || 8.6k Eddie catches a cold and stubbornly denies he's sick, while a fondly exasperated Buck is trying to take care of him.

Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon/@glorious-spoon Explicit || 8.5k Buck and Eddie try something out together.

These men are idiots and it’s perfect and VERY hot.

i'd swim to your call on my phone by heartbeatdiaz/@loserdiaz Teen || 8.5k Buck's daughter keeps calling 9-1-1 for help with her homework, Eddie is smitten and apparently 9-1-1 works better than Tinder

What's Died Will Never Stay Dead by HMSLusitania/@hmslusitania Teen || 6.5k The immortal firefam AU no one asked for.

Yet another Buddie banger from a ship that sank in 1915.

swinging for the fences by inbetweenthestacks/@organizedstardust Teen || 6.4k Buck takes Eddie to a baseball game.

This is the first baseball/baseball adjacent fic I’ve read in the Buddie fandom that made my baseball obsessed heart very happy. You don’t have to care about baseball to like it though!The line “Is baseball just…math?” made me actually laugh out loud because.. Yeah baseball kind of is math.

if you go down in the woods today by oklahoma/@malewifediazTeen || 6.3k “Oh, oh. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.” Buck grips Bobby’s hands as he goes down to the ground, looking up at Eddie with hot fire in his big blue eyes. “You’re gonna owe me so many blowjobs when I wake up. D’you hear me, Eddie Diaz? You owe me so bad.”

They’re so goofy with each other in this and it feels so true to the characters and show. A delight!

kiss and make up by 42hrb Explicit || 3.3k Instead of being soft and sweet or adrenaline fueled and filled with love and thanks that they're both alive, their first kiss comes in the middle of a fight in Eddie’s living room.

shameless self promo, but I loved writing this fic so here it is on my own rec list :)

if this love is pain (let's hurt tonight) by HungryHungryHippo/@hippolotamus Teen || 3.2k After Chris leaves for college Buck mysteriously disappears. Five years later he finally returns with some answers.

Honestly... it's perfect

let heart hold true by lecornergirl/@clusterbuck Teen || 2.4k Eddie comes out to christopher. things snowball from there.

nicknames, supernova similes and the family we make by thewolvesof1998/@thewolvesof1998 General || 800 words Bobby and Athena meet Buck and Eddie's new baby girl.

Reread

like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/@shitouttabuckExplicit || 51k Evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

I wish I was lying when I say I’ve read this fic 4 times since it came out, but I’m not. It’s so damn good.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston/@ebjameston Teen || 40.9k The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

I can’t find the worlds to tell you how much I love this fucking fic. It’s so good. It might actually be perfect.

of bake sales and overdue realizations by brewrosemilk/@gayhoediaz Teen || 4.8k Eddie doesn’t notice it until it becomes a thing that happens even when it’s just him and Buck, without Chris anywhere near them - but even then, he doesn’t find it strange, or give it much thought. Buck is the one who starts ending their phone calls with a quick ‘love you’ but it doesn't take long before Eddie does the same, often beating him to it.

WIPs

Maybe More Than I Should by Leslie_Knope Mature || 30k || ¾ chapters complete Eddie caught sight of the man leaning against the side of his desk and immediately wanted to retreat to the relative safety of the hallway, back in time when he lived happily not knowing that Mr. Buckley was apparently some kind of male model masquerading as a third-grade teacher.

This fic is an absolutely TREAT

#Han's Weekly Fic Recs #Han's Buddie Recs #Buddie #buddie fic rec #911 #buddie 911 #buddie 9-1-1 #buddie rec list #rec list #fic rec

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juiles · 11 months

Text

Why me?

Summary: y/n is Wanda and Natasha’s partner. After a misunderstanding and 3 months of pain, they finally break through.

Tags: angst and then fluff

Warnings: self harm, pain, fighting, kinda angsty Nat, insecure reader, intrusive thoughts, yelling.

A/N: here’s an angsty wandanat x reader fic that i’ve wanted to read for a while but can’t seem to find any with this plot so if you know of one let me know.

Masterlist here!

————————————————————————

Y/N pov

When i walked into the kitchen, I wasn’t expecting to see Natasha and Wanda wrapped up in each others arms, even though i should have, but i definitely was not expecting to hear Wanda utter the words that shattered my heart.

“You, and you alone, are my entire world and I couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend…” She had muttered into Natasha’s neck, neither of them noticing me in the room giving me the chance to walk out in silence.

I should have expected that, the last few months they have slowly started separating themselves from me. Busying themselves in their work so much I never saw them anymore, anytime they weren’t busy, they seemed to find a way to ignore me and when they were around me they weren’t necessarily nice.

This interaction had given me that last needed push to finally give up. I pulled all my clothes into a bag and went back into my old room down the hall, haphazardly throwing the bag in the corner of my room. I felt a sob build up in my throat and with a quick lock of my door and telling Friday to sound proof my room and not let anyone in, i collapsed into a ball in my room and allowed myself to sob for 30 minutes before picking myself up and dusting myself off.

I decided then and there that I would push myself into my work. I wouldn’t let them ruin my life, at least not my life with the avengers.

It had been 3 months since that day, of course Natasha and Wanda hadn’t even noticed i had left or started avoiding them. None of the teams seemed to have noticed anything different about me which just pulled me further into my shell. I had a very simple routine, wake up at 4, train for 2 hours making sure to be in a private room. Grab something for breakfast if i was feeling it, which lately I hadn’t been. Be in the labs by 6:30 to start work. Skip lunch, working the whole day with my headphones on. I managed to avoid ground dinners a lot but sometimes i got sucked in, not like anyone even noticed if I was there or not.

Wanda’s POV

I guess Natasha and I hadn’t noticed how we had been distancing ourselves from y/n but in the last month or so I noticed how different things had been. Maybe we had been too caught up in our work or our lives but somehow y/n had managed to distance themselves from us even more. They had moved out from our shared room and we almost never saw them during the day.

“She’s probably just being petty that we have lives other than her.” Natasha said as we discussed what was going on. “They’re not being adult about this. They should have spoken to us rather than just leave.”

“I don’t think we ever gave them the chance Nat… we’ve been really distant… the day we we’re practicing what to say to them when we proposed… i think they heard us… i don’t think they realized it was about them… and up until then we had been finding ways to avoid them to not make the engagement noticeable.” I said, tears threatening to fall from my eyes. “We really messed up…”

We both looked up when we heard the kitchen door open and to both our surprise we saw y/n standing in the doorway. They had an unreadable look on their face before they quickly turned on their heel and stormed out of the room, towards their own room. My eyes widened and very quickly my body was racing after their own without a thought in my head.

Before I even got the door, it slammed in my face making me screech to a stop staring at the dark brown wood in front of me, tears now falling from my eyes. “Y/n… please open the door.” I all but whimpered before leaning back into Natasha’s arms who had followed behind me. “Please… we just want to talk…”

I heard a smash and a scream so loud it almost hurt my ears more than my heart. Another smash happened before Natasha made the decision to kick the door down revealing y/n in a very panicked state throwing items around their room. Glass and paper already scattered around the floor.

“FUCK OFF.” They screamed throwing a vase at my head, i barely dodged it, a small piece that shattered on the wall behind me, lodged into my arm making me gasp in pain. The gasp must have shaken them out of their frenzy as they stopped and slowly turned to face me, eyes drawn to the small amount of blood trickling down my arm. “Wanda… oh god… oh my god i am so sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Their head snapped up to look at me before they backed away, arms being held up defensively. “I’m sorry… please don’t hate me… please…” They pleaded staring at my eyes, a look of pure fear in their eyes.

“Detka… I would never-“

“DON’T. DON’T SAY THAT. ITS A LIE! YOU DID!” They screamed at me before going back to the fear and they cowered again when Natasha took a slow step forward, tears falling down her face.

“We never meant to hurt you… we swear… we love you more than anything… please… let us help you…” She finally made it to y/n’s trembling body and managed to pull them into her arms. “We want to help you…”

I kneeled in front of y/n’s sobbing form and held their hands as they sobbed and screamed into Natasha’s chest.

After what felt like hours, their sobs and screams disappeared into soft sniffles, their face still buried deep into her neck. That’s when I finally took a good look at them. They were shaking, their body looking very frail and skinny, as they pulled their face out of Nats neck, and I noticed the dark circles under the eyes, how pale they were, how lost their eyes are. “Oh detka…” I murmured cupping their face. All they did was stare at me. “I am SO sorry that we ever made you feel like we don’t love you… we love you so much it hurts. It hurts to know that we hurt you. It breaks our hearts because not once did we even step back to notice we were hurting you, that we were so engrossed in our plans that we failed to notice what we were doing to you.”

Their face contorted u to pain when i softly grabbed their wrist making me pull back their sleeve before they got the chance, my heart falling even further into my stomach. There on their wrist were bloody cuts scattered around. “Please let me clean these… baby they look infected. Even if you don’t want us around, i want to make sure you stay safe.” They glanced down at their own wrist before looking at Natasha before looking back at me and they nodded. I shot up and ran into the bathroom before coming back with the first aid kit.

“It will sting but you grip my arm as tightly as humanly possible, it will help.” Natasha murmured into their ear, they nodded staring down at their arm, their good hand gripping onto Nats. I started cleaning the wounds, y/n barely made a sound but I could see the pain in their eyes so i did it as fast as possible, wrapping them up before showering the bandages with kisses. “All better…”

“You… my… I’m sorry…” They muttered squeezing their eyes shut.

“No. No you don’t need to apologize. We do. For the rest of our lives we will be apologizing for ever causing you pain. You are our world y/n. The three of us against the world.” Natasha stopped them quickly holding them tighter. “Detka… you’re too skinny… have… have you not been eating?”

They tended up before I stroked their cheeks gently. “We’re not mad baby… but we need to know… we need to make sure your taken care of so let’s get some food in you baby…” They bit their lip and started shaking their head before Nat cleared her throat and they took a deep sigh before nodding gently.

Nat scooped them up into her arms bridal style and carried them down to the kitchen before placing them on her lap as she sat on a stool. “What do you want to eat detka…?”

It was silent for a moment before a small whisper was heard. “Wanda’s alfredo…?” Was hushed but my I couldn’t fight the smile growing in my face. “Of course baby.”

I instantly started flitting around the kitchen doing what was needed. It was silent for at least 10 minutes before they spoke again.

“I never wanted to upset you guys… before you stop me let me speak. I’m just so used to being used, hurt then dropped as if I’m garbage…” They’re eyes welled up slowly. “I just… i just needed to pull myself away before you could hurt me and I ended up hurting all of us… I’m sorry i didn’t talk to you guys before and assumed the worst…” My heart shattered even more. “I love you guys so much it made me want to go numb so I couldn’t get hurt again…”

“We love you baby… we love you so much and these last 3 months have been torture but it was our own fault.” Natasha said running her calloused hands through y/n’s hair. “We will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. Now eat so we can go snuggle in bed to sleep my love.”

Y/n stared at the bowl, their bottom lip wobbling. “I’m scared…” They whispered.

“Baby… me and you and Wanda are going to do this together. Understand?” They nodded with a small sniffle. “Now open up so you can eat.” They opened their mouth and slowly we made our way through the bowl.

After they ate, we made our way back upstairs to our bedroom and settled them in between us, pulling their bony body into ours. “Why me?”

“Because you are our world detka and no matter what we say or do nothing will ever be able to make up for what we did to you.”

Y/n sniffled before snuggling back down into us with a small content smile on their faces they fell asleep.

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ureksbaby · 3 months

Text

little things

summary : gojo loves the little moments with you

w.c : 934

type : short fic

gojo comes home to the smell of your cooking. it’s one of the few consistent things about the chaos of his life. while the smell may be different each day, it reminds him of his hunger; it brings a comfort in knowing that you were prepared for that.

he kicks off his shoes and hangs his jacket up on the hooks that you had insisted on putting on the wall by the door. they’re a little crooked, you had put them up yourself, and despite him telling you that the two of you have no need for them, he uses them every single day. whether that’s because you were right or because he chooses to humour you is constantly up for debate between the two of you.

he walks down the hallway to the kitchen, unsurprised to see you at the stove, sporting the ‘will cook for sex’ apron he had bought you for christmas one year. you had squealed and told him that he was so crude. still, you were wearing it every time he walked through the door. you tell him it’s only because you don’t want to get your clothes dirty and that you have no other aprons. he knows that you keep your plain, less ‘crude’ aprons at the back of the cupboard under the stairs for when your family visit.

he watches you for a few moments, as you quietly hum his favourite song. you’re no good of a singer, but he loves to hear it anyway.

“smells amazing my smoochums.” he sings from the doorway, making you jump. you swirl on your toes, turning to face him with a beaming smile on your face, completely unfazed at this point by the cringy nicknames he tries to give you,

“ah, satoru! you’re home.” you cheer, putting down your tongs and crossing the expansive kitchen to kiss him on the cheek. your lipgloss always sticks to his skin, but he waits for you to turn back to your cooking before wiping it off with the back of his hand. he follows you back to the stove, wrapping his arms around your waist as you cook.

he knows it’s probably no help having him cling to you while you’re trying to work, but you never complain,

“how was your day?” you ask him, stirring the broth in the pot with a practiced hand. he shrugs,

“it was fine: nothing too crazy. although… the first years ruined my shirt.” he tells you. you titter,

“i hope you didn’t ask for them to pay for it.” you muse and he squawks

“why shouldn’t they? they spilt coffee on my lovely new shirt!” he laments, pretending to cry into your shoulder. you reach around and pat his head pityingly

“we’ll try and get it dry-cleaned. and if that doesn’t work, i’ll buy you a new one.” you say sweetly. he laughs,

“and with what money are you going to do that with?” he asks teasingly. you flick his forehead

“yours, of course.” you joke, grin ever-present on your face, “but you’ll have the privilege of having a shirt picked out by me. it’ll be even better than the one that got coffee-d.”

he whines,

“are you insulting my fashion sense?”

you raise an eyebrow, gesturing to the apron you were wearing,

“yes.” you say simply, but he knows it’s in jest. removing his arms from your waist, you wave him away, “now go sit down! dinner’s almost ready.”

he does as he’s told, sitting down at the table in his usual spot, sat in front of the pink placemat that simply read ‘sugartits’. bringing over the food, you place his in front of him and sit down opposite him at your own ‘massive penis’ placemat. evidently, it’s meant to be the other way around, but you had set them out wrong one time, and the two of you had found it so funny that it became tradition.

“thanks, i’m starving.” gojo comments, before digging in. there was never any need to hesitate when it came to your cooking.

you tell him about your day over dinner, as you always do and he listens. you tell him about all the little things you got up to, acting out stories. you inadvertently slow down your eating as you talk and he slows his down too, despite how hungry he is, so that he can keep listening to you without you ever becoming aware that you had slowed down in the first place.

it’s only small talk, but it doesn’t seem so small to gojo. it was pretty big to him.

he loves you.

when you finish eating, and he finishes with you at, conveniently, the same time, he takes the dishes and begins to wash them up. you follow him, drying the plates and putting them away. you chat away to each other even then, about nothing important, just happy to hear the sound of the other’s voice.

he helps you put away one of the bowls on the top shelf; he unties your apron and hangs it up for you; he kisses the top of your head and thanks you for dinner. you put his favourite show on; you let him rest his head on your lap while he watches; he gets into bed before you and notices that you had arranged his pillows in exactly the way he likes.

they're little things, he knows. but when you climb into bed beside him, immediately curling up into his side, fitting perfectly against him - he realises just how much he loves all of these little things.

#gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader

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muldermuse · 5 months

Text

Coffee Shop Confessions (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

Reader overhears Glenda (Gator’s girlfriend) bragging about how intimate her and Gator were a few nights ago. You want to remind Gator who he belongs to.

18+ only!!!! Smut below. Smut includes oral (m receiving), mentions of piv, infidelity (huggge thing), facial (f receiving), exhibitionism??, cumplay. If any of these things are not to your tastes, pls do not read the fic!

This is at some point after the two sinners fic. This dynamic is so fun to write because Gator is an awful person (but so are reader and Glenda).

You’re out on a casual coffee date with Jax when you see her walk in. It’s Glenda and as always (as much as it pains you to admit it) she looks great. Her hair is in her signature low ponytail with a white shawl draped around her shoulders. Underneath the shawl it looks like she’s wearing a long green dress but you fear pointing your eyes in her direction for too long. Glenda comes in with the rest of her book club, they usually meet at the Church hall every Wednesday afternoon but renovations are currently in the works so the group meeting has been diverted to your usual coffee shop.

You saw Gator three nights ago, his afternoon shift was quiet so he spent a few hours fucking you in different places around your home. You know that he hasn’t slept with Glenda yet, he has to marry her first and from what he tells you, his daddy is really on his back about doing it soon. Roy tells him that a woman like Glenda won’t hang around forever and if he isn’t ‘man enough’ to marry her; a better man will. The only reason that Gator would ever marry her is to keep his daddy happy. He’d spend a life betrothed just to appease a man who views him as nothing but a disappointment.

You’re sat on a couch near the back of the shop so Glenda and her group don’t see you as they peruse the menu. Jax is completely unaware that the group have entered and only knows Glenda from around town. He’s chatting to you about this new deal he’s getting close to finishing at his work. You’ve been feigning interest until the ladies walked in but now you’re not even paying attention to him. They choose a big table and unbeknownst to them, sit within earshot of you. They’re all clutching their dogeared copies of Jane Eyre as a barista delivers cups of tea to the table. You try to tune the conversation about the book out until you hear something peaks your interest.

“Okay, I have to ask I can’t wait anymore” Glenda’s friend Holly squeals, all of Glenda’s friend look exactly like her but with interchangeable eyes and hair colour. “Glenda, have you and Gator done anything else since the other night?”. You watch Glenda’s cheeks tinge pink as all of the group turns to look at her, placing their books down and holding their mugs close to them, seemingly waiting for the gossip.

“Oh my, Glenda! Have you and Gator…y’know” Sophie all but whispers. You smirk, none of these ladies would ever say sex out loud in a public place, maybe in the comfort of their homes but never ever out where they could be heard. You imagine if they would ever call it fucking rather than sex. It seems like Gator exclusively refers to it as that and you can’t imagine him using a softer term like ‘making love’. The thought of him saying that to you sends a shiver down your spine.

Glenda places her mug down and a small smile crosses her face. You’ve known Glenda since school and you know how much she loves talking about herself. It’s probably a tie between herself and her relationship with God for her favourite topic of conversation. You watch as Glenda looks at all her friends to seemingly ensure that all attention is placed on her. “So, ladies- some of you may know that Gator and I were…shall we say…intimate the other night?”.

You feel your heart drop into your stomach. Why hadn’t he told you? You honestly never considered that they would do that before getting married.

Glenda continues, “Okay well not ‘intimate’ in that kind of way”. The table erupts with polite giggles as you feel a wave of relief wash over you. Of course they wouldn’t be doing anything like that yet. They’ve been an official couple for 8 months and Gator has been fucking you for just shy of a year. You wonder if it’s difficult for him to pretend he’s never done anything before. This whole topic makes you feel uneasy; discussing Glenda is completely off the table for you and Gator. You don’t talk about their relationship or their future unless you’re in an argument and you want to hurt him. Or, if he wants to make you feel insignificant. Both of these things happen more than you care to admit. Gator didn’t lose his virginity to you, that was long gone by the time you two started…whatever this is. Jax interrupts your train of thought, he can probably tell that you haven’t heard a word he’s been saying for the past few minutes. “I’ve just got to take a call and then I’ll grab us a coffee to go- okay?” You nod and rub your hand against his forearm. He smiles at the gesture but really, that is your way of asking him to hurry up so you can eavesdrop more.

“So he came home from work and ladies, I think we can all agree that he looks very dashing in his little uniform” The groups nods and giggles. “I’d had a small glass of white wine whilst finishing up my new library book and I don’t know what came over me.” The rest of the group look enthralled with the tale and you realise this is probably the most exciting thing that has happened to them in the past month.

“So, he comes and sits next to me and he’s on his phone and I tell him how handsome he looks and I put my hand on his knee…well not on his knee, maybe above it? And I suppose, I just took control! I kissed him and we made out a little. No tongue or anything but it felt really special. I tried to sit up closer to him but he told me that it wasn’t the right time. I love that about him y’know, his commitment to the Lord is really there.” By the end of her tale, she looks flushed as if reciting the interaction has got her worked up. “So I guess, that means we’re going to wait until we’re wed. I know you all understand how much that means to me.” She holds her hands out into the centre of the table and her friends grab and squeeze as a sign of support.

Your phone buzzes and pulls your attention away from the group. Jax is calling and as you look up you see him smiling and holding two coffees to go. You grab your bag and as you turn to leave you accidentally bump your hip into Glenda’s chair.

“Oh…I didn’t see you there. I hope our book club didn’t disrupt your date with this new gentleman friend of yours.” She looks at Jax and waves at him, her eyes don’t leave his as she turns away from you and says, “You just seem to have so many gentleman friends…I guess it’s hard to keep track”. The sound of the group giggling under their breath takes you right back to high school. Right back to hearing Glenda make comments about you and your friends to a roaring laughter from her minions. All of whom would never even look your way without Glenda’s presence. You consider how cowardice always outweighs confidence.

“Y’all have a nice day discussing that book”. You pat Glenda’s shoulder and hold your head high as you leave the coffee shop with Jax. You know the only thing they’ll be discussing for the rest of the afternoon is you and your ‘scandalous’ life.

***

[sent at 19:03] You: need to see u tonight, come round when u finish

[received at 19:07] Gator🐍💩:??? k omw to u now.

He knocks on your door just after quarter past. You’ve changed from your coffee date outfit into your favourite piece of lingerie. You’ve had it for a while and it drives Gator wild every time he sees it. It’s white lace bra and panties with a garter belt and white sheer suspenders. To answer the door, you’ve draped Gator’s plaid shirt over your body- he loves shit like that, it makes him feel more possessive over you. The shirt is completely open and you pray that no one else is on the street. A quick glance through your keyhole just shows Gator looking slightly more fidgety than usual.

You open the door and greet him with “hey Sheriff”. He rushes inside pushing you back, trying to hide your body. He sits down on the couch and covers his eyes with his hands, “are you fuckin’ insane? Why the fuck are you answerin’ the goddamn door like that?”

He keeps his hands covering his eyes as you position yourself on your knees between his legs. You huff out, “I wanted to surprise you…I bet you’ve had such a hard day at work.” You run your hands over his thighs and smile at him when he puts his hands behind his head to look at you. You dropped the shirt when he pushed you back from the front door so now you’re just kneeling in front of him wearing your delicate white lingerie. Your hand stays on the bulge in his pants, your thumb rubbing over it gently as you rest your head on his knee.

“What the fuck are you doin’ baby,” he lifts his hips to push his bulge into your touch and bites his lip at the contact. His thumb runs against your cheekbone as his eyes bore into yours. It’s a tender moment, a rare one for the pair of you and all you can think about is how much of a fucking bitch his girlfriend is. You want to send her boyfriend back to her completely wrecked.

You unbutton his pants and Gator takes the hint and shimmies them down until they’re pushed down below his knees. You inch closer to him and stick your tongue out as your eyes meet his. He smirks as he taps the head of his hard cock against your tongue. The sound of wet slaps fills the room as he asks you, “y’gonna help me unwind?”. You nod as you take his cock into your mouth.

You hear him mutter “fuck” under his breath as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. His left hand rests on your head as the other stays behind his back. He doesn’t apply any pressure to your head as you take him deeper into your throat. You feel tears filling your eyes as you pull of him with a gag. Spit connects your mouth to his cock as you keep stroking him as you catch your breath. His eyes are hooded and he smirks at you as he teases, “oh honey, I thought you wanted to help me relax…y’were doin’ such a good job too”. He grabs your chin with his forefinger and thumb and presses a kiss to your forehead. He pulls off you and you move your mouth down to his cock again.

“Make me fuckin’ cum down your throat, pretty girl”. Gator loves to hear you gag on his cock, he is pretty big and hearing you struggle reminds him of that. You get into a steady rhythm of sucking his cock and twisting your hand for whatever your mouth can’t reach. As he gets closer to finishing, he pushes his hips up so his cock is hitting the back of your throat.

He whimpers above you, “fuck baby, I’m going to fucking cum…quick- where sho-“ before he can finish his sentence you’re giving him your best doe eyes and begging him to cum on your face. He moans at the instruction and finishes before has chance to consider what you’ve said. Ropes of his cum cover your face as you wipe it from your eyes to look at him.

You pick your phone up from the ground and throw it at his chest, “do I look pretty enough for a picture, Gator?”. He still looks dazed from his orgasm as he holds your phone in his hand and snaps a quick picture.

“Why the fuck do you want that?” He asks after he gets his breath back. He dresses himself quickly as you tell him it’s probably time for him to leave.

***

Glenda always posts what she makes Gator for his dinner on her Facebook. The caption usually containing what the meal is and how thankful she is to have such a ‘grateful man’ to cook and care for. Gator’s long gone by the time Glenda posts her chicken casserole picture. You send him a message as soon as she posts the meal.

[sent at 20:34] You: hope you’re still feeling relaxed baby ❤️

You attach the picture of you from an hour ago. Between Gator’s hairy thighs, smiling with your eyes closed and ropes of Gator’s cum covering your face. Gator has no manners so will undoubtedly open the text sitting at the dinner table with Glenda. You smile as you go to put your phone on charge. You leave it on silent and turn it so the screen is facing down.

You’d hate to interrupt the happy couple’s evening.

#fargo #fargofx #fargoedit #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #fargo s5 #joe keery x reader #joe keery #joe keery smut #gator tillman fic #gator tillman #gator tillman fanfic #gator x reader #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x f!reader #two sinners works

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yaekiss · 11 months

Note

i loved that aether fic! can you pls make him a yandere for us?

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Top! Reader x Sub! Yan! Bottom! Camboy! Aether, reader's dick can be read as strap, he steals your clothes, possessiveness from Aether, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: Thank you for enjoying the camboy!Aether work!! It was really interesting to brainstorm about how he would behave as a yan!camboy so I got a little carried away again hehe, hope you like the ramble ! ♡

Yandere!Camboy!Aether who’s not only a slut but a slut for you ♡ His affection for you stems from how you always secretly check in on him during your streams together. Your voice is low as you ask him if the pace is alright, if you can start moving, if the position is comfortable for him. And don’t even get him started on the aftercare. The amount of care you show him contrasted with how harshly you slam into him has his mind spinning, creating some twisted contorted lust-filled version of love that he just wants to shower you with.

It’s no doubt that he’s super sweet towards you off cam but I feel like he’d also be a bit of a pervert in this AU. Once, after a collab stream together, when you left the room to grab a drink, he leaps up at the opportunity to steal a piece of your undergarments before you return. He stashes it in a Ziploc bag he brought along specifically for this and immediately chucks it into his luggage, stored underneath some bulkier lighting or filming equipment so that you wouldn’t find it. The second he gets home, he's pressing it up to his face and inhaling your scent as he strokes himself. Aether’s probably also a yandere who would commission a dildo that matches your size so that he can fuck himself at home while crying out your name as he watches your streams. Tears well up in his eyes as he can’t seem to cum, the artificial blue light from his laptop unable to replicate the sheer warmth in your gaze every time you take him, your voice through his speakers is too crackly and nothing at all like how you would whisper and coo slyly into his ear. Poor baby :((

During collabs, Aether constantly battles with the dilemma of whether:

1. On one hand, he wants the whole audience to see that only you could pound his brains out like this until he’s blubbering and whining out things that make no sense. No one else can make you feel as good as him, right? (In actual fact, you do stream with others apart from Aether, it’s just that he vehemently chooses not to watch them, scowling at the notification that pops up whenever you go live with someone other than him.) Every time you suck a hickey onto his skin, pure dopamine floods his mind. You’re leaving a mark on him-! Wahhh means you really do like him right? Right? Rightright? 🥹

2. He wants you to only focus on him, so no more of your pesky audience! Aether hates hates hates it when you look away from him to address your viewers. Whenever he watches you turn from him to face the camera, there’s a small ugly part of Aether that bristles as you address them so endearingly. Mind muddled with jealousy and lust and desire, he wants to scream, “Why do you need to ask them if they’re enjoying the view? Just look at me, am I not enough for you?” But he knows better than that, the both of you are streamers after all and he wouldn’t know what he’d do if you ever got mad at him for ruining a stream. What if you never want to stream with him ever again? What if you cut off all means of contact with him!? The risks are too high for Aether’s poor heart to bear so no matter how his hand itches to turn off the stupid blinking red webcam, he holds himself back and just pouts at you.

All in all, Yan!Camboy!Aether is a pathetic perv teehee :3c

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

#📜.qi rambles #📜.qi chats #chats with a hotel guest!#yandere #genshin x reader #genshin smut #sub genshin #yandere genshin #yandere smut #aether x reader #yandere aether #aether smut #sub aether #dom reader #sub yandere #I hope I characterised him alright in this omg

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bloodynereid · 6 months

Note

Hello!! I am absolutely loving your R&R fic so far!! If you’re taking requests for more Jordan fics could you do one with a genderfluid reader who is so happy to meet another genderqueer character and they’re just so happy together and supportive? Maybe a cute coming out scene? I completely understand if that’s not something you’re comfortable writing though!! Have a nice day <33

Time and Space

pairing: jordan li x reader (sort of platonic)

tw: nothing really? slight mentions of homophobia, mentions of death, swearing - that's it i think

description: it's your first day at campus and something unexpected happens when you're trying to sort out your schedule.

a/n: ok so i'm not genderqueer myself (even if i do have my own gender things going on atm) so i genuinely hope this is written ok and respectfully. pls lmk if it isn't and i will change anything that needs to be changed. this is also more of a drabble than a one-shot but i hope you enjoy <333

You started picking your way through all the other freshmen that were joining God U. Your suitcase hit different little bumps in the path but you kept trying to make your way to your dorm. Your powers would be incredibly helpful right now but you really didn’t want to accidentally kill someone with how busy everything was.

Supposedly you hadn’t gotten a roommate this year since your application was accepted a little later than usual, a shiver travelled through your spine as you remembered that kid had to die just for you to have a place at this school.

Shaking off the remaining anxiety you finally got to the door that was meant to open your dorm. Clutching your hand on the handle and pushing, your room was opened up to you. It was huge. It probably wouldn’t have been as huge if there was another person living with you but holy shit.

You started going through the motions of unpacking your things and changing into much more comfortable clothes. The 4-hour flight had left your clothes itchy and slightly sticky. Smoothing down the leather of your trench coat, you walked back into the fray of students.

You heard a chime from your phone and pulling it out you realized it was your schedule. You hadn’t really decided between Crime Fighting and Performing Arts but your powers dictated that the first one was probably the better option. You had the ability to distort or rather bend space, which wouldn’t really do much if you were doing performing arts. Plus you had the worst stage fright. A little note at the end read that you should go check in with Professor Brink’s TA as soon as possible so you had all the books ready.

Taking a deep breath you put up your hands and a second later you were standing in front of the Crime Fighting school. Your face twisted into a smirk as some people ducked away from your sudden appearance before you closed your eyes again and transported. This time you appeared in the little entry room outside of Brink’s office.

Sitting at the desk was the person you assumed was Professor Brink’s TA. They had short black hair and she was wearing a long sleeve shirt. They must not have realized you had arrived in the little space because she was still typing away at her computer.

“Uh hi?” You said, breaking the complete silence of the room. The person jumped and looked up at you with a frown.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh right, yes. My schedule said I should come check with you about Professor Brink’s class.”

“Hmm let me see that. I’m Jordan by the way.”

“Y/N. Wait… you’re Jordan Li?” Your mouth dropped, this was the person who had literally made you confident enough to actually come out to your parents. They were like the coolest person ever.

“Yes…” Jordan said tentatively as they looked up at you.

“Sorry, I just had a minor freak out. Holy shit, you’re just- you are a fucking inspiration is all.” You stuttered out, the obvious star struck look on your face had Jordan slightly chuckling.

“I don’t get that a lot but thanks. Oh ok yes, Y/N L/N… oh what pronouns do you prefer today?” Jordan asked as a brilliant smile crossed their face.

“Uh just they/them, I think today? It’s subject to change though.” You said as you laughed slightly.

“Totally understand that, it’s fucking awesome isn’t it? Also your powers sound incredible. How much control do you have over them?” Jordan asked hurriedly as she stood up and motioned you to sit over at the couch.

“Enough, so I’m not exactly at an expert level but I’m slowly building up to it. Your powers are so fucking cool as well. The way you just have a million different powers is spectacular.”

“Aww thank you, most people don’t look past the whole gender thing so…”

“Honestly fuck them, it’s a huge part of us sure but it’s no different than being like any other human being.” You said as you stretched out your arms and smiled. “Oh shit I totally forgot to ask but what are your pronouns today?”

“Uh they/she but… subject to change.” Jordan said lightly, slightly mocking your words with a smile.

“Oh fuck you.”

You spent the next hour discussing everything and anything, finding people who actually accepted and had similar beliefs to you was hard in recent years. Especially with being a supe as well. Jordan also helped you figure out your schedule and got you some extra books that would help with classes. By the end of the conversation, you felt like you had gained your first real friend at school.

ahhh ok lmk ur thoughts <3 also the reader's powers are called spatial manipulation (this is a link to the superpower wiki page if anyone is interested in reading more about it). also me actually being active wow.

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martianbugsbunny · 8 days

Text

Hour One (A Kalluzeb Fic)

*falling down the stairs* I did it! I finished my post-Zero Hour fic, it's so tasty to me <3 I'm not even gonna ramble about it I'm just gonna get right to the fic bc I love it!!! read on and enjoy!!!

When the ship was safely in hyperspace, Kanan quietly let Kallus into a room on the Ghost that was currently deserted. Judging by the half-made bunk beds against the wall, Kallus assumed it was living quarters, but he was too distracted by the growing pain in his shoulders and ribs to try and piece together whose room it was.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Kanan said. And then Kallus was alone again, with the forgiving, kind voice of the Jedi echoing in his brain. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be spoken to softly. He was lucky these people whom he’d hunted across the galaxy for years had even bothered to pick up his escape pod, rather than speeding away from the Imperial fleet and applying the rule of “serves him right.”

Something in him cracked. He began to sob, silently, terrified of what he had done in betraying the Empire, overwhelmed by a thousand different strident feelings he couldn’t even name. The heavy breaths hurt (every movement seemed to hurt, now that his adrenaline rush was wearing thin) and his head was pounding. Was the world really spinning, or was that just him?

At the first hiss of the door sliding open, Kallus dragged his sleeve hastily across his face to remove any tears or snot that might give away that he’d been crying—a bad decision, really, given his black eye, which stung at the rough contact.

It wasn’t Kanan who stepped into the room, slightly awkwardly and with bright green eyes that reflected back at Kallus those unnamable emotions.

It was Zeb.

Kallus took a step back, hands clenched at his sides. He knew his eyes were red and he could feel spots on his face where he had missed tears, and he hoped Zeb wouldn’t notice. He had no right to cry in front of this man, of all people.

Zeb stared at him for a moment, and Kallus could feel him mentally checking off all the things that were currently wrong on Kallus’s person. Hunched posture from his injured ribs; blotchy face; bloodstains on his uniform and dried blood on his lip.

“I brought you some clothes,” Zeb said. In the other hand he held a medkit, and Kallus realized with a sinking feeling that those supplies were for him. What a waste of resources that seemed. “They’re probably not your size, but they’re better than the Imperial things you’re wearing.”

Kallus took a breath before answering, surprised at how steady he was able to force his voice to be. “Thank you,” he said.

Then there was a horrible pause as Kallus realized he wouldn’t be able to remove his chest armor, much less his shirt, without help, and he could see the exact same knowledge dawning on Zeb’s face. “Karabast,” he said. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you.”

Kallus shook his head after only a brief moment of thought. He didn’t have the strength to punish himself any further. Whether or not he was worthy of Zeb’s help would have to wait until he was healed. “If you don’t mind,” he said, taking another shaky breath as he once again met Zeb’s gaze.

He didn’t look angry. He almost seemed…proud? That wasn’t right. Kallus was seeing things; his brain had been shaken up by his escape and he was imagining things that weren’t there. “I don’t,” Zeb said. He crossed the room and set the clothes down on the lower bunk. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty space next to them.

Kallus did as he was told, relieved to be off his feet. The leg he’d injured on Bahryn had been hurting horribly since his fight with Thrawn, particularly his knee. He might need to consider getting a brace, he realized, if he wanted to keep fighting—which he did.

Zeb unclasped the sides of Kallus’s ISB-issued armor, dumping it on the floor. “Sabine’ll get a kick out of painting that,” Zeb said. “You can wear our colors instead of Imperial ones.” “Give it to somebody else,” Kallus said. “I don’t want it.” Zeb gave him another strange look that he couldn’t parse. “Whatever you say.” He began to work at the clasps of Kallus’s uniform shirt. They definitely wasn't built for his large, clawed fingers. “So…you’re a Rebel now,” he said. “Still think you made the right decision?”

There weren’t words to describe how firmly Kallus was convinced of it. He was terrified, staring into the face of the unknown, but he knew he’d done the right thing—he just wasn’t sure how to live with the consequences. How to build a new life for himself out of the ruins of his old one…which had been built on the ruins of so many other people’s lives.

So Kallus simply nodded, trying to keep himself from spilling any more tears. The thing that made that impossible was the gentle way Zeb worked the unclasped shirt from his torso, pulling off one sleeve and then the other, grumbling angrily in that deep, rumbling voice when he saw the bruises on Kallus’s side.

“I apologize,” Kallus said immediately, his voice stiff and cracked like old, uncared-for leather. “This isn’t fair.” Zeb helped him get his arms into the new shirt he’d brought, leaving the clasps undone; the medics would only have to undo them again later to treat his injuries properly. Then he draped a quilted jacket across Kallus’s shoulders.

“You just uprooted your entire life, Kallus,” Zeb said, sighing and adjusting a non-existent crease in the jacket. “I would think it was weird if you didn’t cry.”

“Not in front of you. You shouldn’t comfort me.” Kallus moved backwards, further into the bunk, away from Zeb’s touch. He didn’t deserve empathy and he didn’t want pity. “This shouldn’t be your problem.”

Zeb got up from the floor where he’d been kneeling and sat on the edge of the bunk, staring at the opposite wall instead of at Kallus. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “Maybe I should say it’s none of my business. Maybe I should leave you to deal with it alone. But when you worked with me on that ice moon, and saved my friends from the Empire, and fed us all that intel as Fulcrum, I think you kind of made yourself my business.” He turned back towards Kallus, his face serious, his eyes soft. “Now let me check your other injuries.”

Kallus complied, shifting closer to Zeb. Even if it didn’t sit right with him, he didn’t think he could refuse Zeb anything. He would do whatever he was asked, whatever he was told—even allow Zeb to take on some of his burden—if it would make a fraction of a difference. If it would help him so much as an inch towards making amends.

With his broad hands carefully gentle, Zeb put a few stitches in Kallus’s broken lower lip. Kallus wondered where Zeb had learned those skills; if it was gained during his time in the Honor Guard of Lasan or in the Rebellion. For a moment, he was lost in wondering, searching Zeb’s face while he was intent on his task as though he could find an answer there. He only realized Zeb had paused and asked him a question when Zeb tilted his head to the side, staring at Kallus for an answer of his own.

“Could you repeat that?”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “I said, can you see alright? That black eye doesn’t look too good.”

His eyes were dry now, but there was still a blur in the left side of his vision. “Actually, I can’t,” he said, swallowing hard. “Everything to the left is hazy.”

“It'll probably need a while to heal,” Zeb said. “If it doesn’t, we’ll get you fitted with some visual aids.” He dabbed something cold and clear on the bruised skin. “There’s nothing more I can do until we land, but you should be fine.”

The pain in his side begged to argue, and he was pretty sure that something in there was broken, but Kallus nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything."

How could he put that everything into words? Thank you for not killing me on Bahryn, thank you for telling me to look for the answers, thank you for believing me when I was Fulcrum, thank you for picking me up just now, thank you for tending my wounds.

He didn’t need to. The way Zeb was looking at him, he already knew.

“We have enough people on board to handle things,” Zeb said, his voice equally low. “I can stick around here for a while if you want the company.”

Kallus felt a smile tugging at the stitches on his lip. More everything to be grateful for. “Alright.”

They sat there together on the bunk for a while in silence. It was a comfortable silence, somehow, and Kallus finally began to relax, not breathing easily past the injuries to his ribs but certainly breathing more easily than before.

“You were limping,” Zeb said, breaking the quiet. “When you came on board you were limping.”

“Once you’re wounded, that body part becomes a target. It’s not so bad, now that my weight’s been off it.” Zeb leaned back against the wall. “That’s good.” He extended one arm to Kallus. “Come on, Kal. We’ve got time before we land anywhere, you can rest.”

There was a moment of hesitation, of doubt, and then Kallus allowed himself to settle next to Zeb, with a strong purple arm around his shoulders. As he started drifting off, safe for the first time in months and knowing his injuries would be cared for, Kallus thought he felt Zeb’s fingers gently rubbing across his arm, and there was a little pit of warmth in his chest that kept the cold of pain and guilt out.

#come get ur juice kalluzebbies #alexsandr kallus #garazeb orrelios #kalluzeb #star wars #Star Wars rebels #rebels #post zero hour #post zero hour fic #hurt/comfort #fic #I've been talking about this thing for at least a month now I think #it's finally done so nobody needs to set my house on fire lol #martianbugsbunny writes fic

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silentsamlikesham · 6 months

Text

Happy Birthday Zoro!!

I was meant to write several short fics today and instead I accidentally wrote this...enjoy!!

N.B: In Japan a birthday is generally spent with a significant other and you meet your friends/family on a day close to it (according to the Internet, I'm not Japanese). I used that idea in this fic for some miss communication! So yeah keep that idea in mind!

.........

A seagull flies tiredly towards the sight of land. It had taken weeks to fly this far into the Grand Line, its important letter pressed safely to it’s chest. It’d been paid handsomely for the journey. The two buffoon humans had given it very clear instructions to deliver the letter on this date exactly.

The bird’s sharp eyes scan the docks as the bird approaches closer to a large portside town. It spots the Jolly Rodger it’s been looking for and swoops to the deck, delighted to have a moment to rest its wings.

The deck is empty, much to the bird’s annoyance. It spots an open barrel of clear water though, and flaps over to it, drinking hungrily from it.

“Oi, bird.” Its eyes flick to a blonde-haired human stalking towards it. It pulls its beak from the barrel, happily sighing after hours of seeing only the seawater beneath it. “That’s for us, is it?”

It presses its chest forward, letting the human unclasp the string on the pouch and pull out the letter tucked inside.

“Eh? This isn’t the paper.” The curly eyebrows on the human’s face furrow as he inspects the envelope.

Sanji does his best to read the smudged name on the front, but the characters have bled together too much to discern it.

“This definitely for us?” The bird stares at him before pointing its beak at the Jolly Rodger above them. Before Sanji could ask how much they owe the bird, it takes off, clearly satisfied with its job.

“Weird.” The cook mutters to himself as he returns to the galley. He’d been enjoying the peace of organising the pantry after they’d restocked it yesterday. Everyone was off the ship except for Franky who was up in the crow’s nest on watch. He must be tinkering with something though, seeing as he didn’t notice the messenger bird himself.

The rest of the crew had disembarked to explore the island. Last Sanji had seen them most of the crew had been heading to the centre of the town to explore. Except for the mosshead that Sanji had watched head the opposite direction, inevitably in the middle of getting lost.

Sanji grabs a small knife from one of galley’s drawers and neatly cuts the top of the envelope open. A small piece of paper rests inside along with some berri. Sanji lets the money tumble onto the counter, now even more confused.

The slip of parchment is in much better shape than the envelope, but the handwriting is almost just as bad. The writer clearly didn’t have much experience in writing, but Sanji manages to read through it. His eyebrows raise as he takes in the words, slowly realising it’s meant for a certain green-headed idiot. It’s signed off by the two bounty hunters Sanji had met at Arlong Park, old friends of the Marimo.

They’re wishing him a happy birthday, the date on the letter matching perfectly with the day itself. They must have sent it some time in advance for a seagull to get all the way here to them.

It was the idiots birthday? He hadn’t said a damn word about it to them. He knew Sanji always cooked the crewmate’s favourite dish and dessert for the day. Nami probably would have given him extra money for a nice drink too, knowing how kind and wonderful the woman is.

Sanji lights the cigarette hanging from his lips. Unless the moron didn’t want them to know. It’d be just like him to see something like a birthday as unimportant or being embarrassed by the attention. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he takes a few drags, reading the warm message sent by the bounty hunters, telling him to buy a drink on them with the berri enclosed. Clearly, he had told them about the day, had celebrated it at least once before with them.

Sanji slams his fist angrily on the counter, not quite sure where the emotion comes from, but screw the Marimo. He isn’t getting out of celebrating his birthday just because he thinks it’s above him. He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks he’ll avoid Sanji’s wrath when it comes to making a birthday dinner.

With his resolve solidified, Sanji begins piecing the ingredients together. He doesn’t realise it until he’s an hour into crafting the food, but he’s only making enough for two people. Well, he must go find the idiot. There’s no way Sanji will get the crew altogether at this point, and Zoro doesn’t have a chance of being back before midnight if he’s gone off on his own. As it stands, Sanji will be lucky to find him before nightfall.

He packs the meal into a basket when it’s ready, carefully packing it so nothing will be smushed or ruined. He briefly thinks of bringing two glasses with him but decides to just pack a bottle of sake and wine, the oaf will happily swig from the bottles anyways.

He calls up to Franky when he finally disembarks, the sky is coloured pink behind the crow’s nest, and Sanji feels a tension inside him to hurry up. The engineer hollers a goodbye as he leaves, making his way down the same route the swordsman had gone hours before. There’s deep sand on most of the route, and Sanji can make out the fake indent of the only pair of footsteps that have taken the path today.

----------------------------------------------

He finds the swordsman just as it’s getting dark enough that Sanji’s cigarette is becoming a guide of sorts, helping him from tripping over rocks and roots. The Marimo is swinging his swords around, cutting lightly into the bark of trees as his body twists and his legs seem to float beneath him.

For everything that Sanji hates about the other, he’s a beautiful fighter. There’s a grace to his power, a purpose to his strength and an elegance to his footwork. Sanji watches him for a moment, almost forgetting about his reason for showing up.

He’s soon brought back to the moment as Zoro catches sight of him in the corner of his vision. Of course, the idiot turns in his surprise and lunges forward, expecting the worst. Sanji easily kicks him out of his course to skewer the blonde. The mosshead isn’t expecting the kick and the darkness briefly confuses him as he stops his motion against a tree, coughing as the impact of the kick rattles his ribcage.

“Oi, what the fuck dart-brows?” He’s glaring at Sanji now, his pupils holding a glint from the flame of the cigarette. “Only way to land a hit is to sneak up on me?”

Sanji bites clean through his filter, letting his cigarette fall to the ground.

“Maybe if your reactions weren’t as slow as a door, then you could have blocked it.”

“Eh? You want to say that to me again?” Zoro’s voice is dangerous as he marches forwards.

He’s been training for hours, trying to work on quicker footwork rather than brute force. He’s tired, but also itching for a proper fight. He lunges at the cook, only being stopped as the blunt side of his katanas are blocked by a leg catching them in an X.

Sanji barely moves an itch at the impact, one of his hands in his pocket, his body somehow almost perfectly upright despite the angle of the kick. Zoro will never understand how a man can be so flexible.

“Watch it, idiot. If any of this goes to waste, I’ll kill you.” Zoro’s eye flick down to where Sanji briefly looks, only now noticing the basket handle he’s clutching.

“What is it?” Zoro leans back, his swords falling by his side as he studies the woven basket. It’s one the cook usually brings onto an island for lunch when they eat out on the sand. Maybe he’s doing the rounds on the crew.

“Food, so put your swords away and wash your hands over there.” Sanji motions to a nearby stream, his nose wrinkling at the sight of how sweat covered Zoro is. The swordsman listens for once, rolling his eyes as he heads over to it. He’d argue more but suddenly his rumbling stomach is reminding him that he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He can always beat the cook’s face into the ground afterwards.

He uses the jumper he’d thrown off earlier to dry his face and hands after washing in the stream, and by the time he returns he’s met with quite the surprise. Sanji has sat himself down on a picnic blanket, he’s fussing over the layout of some rice balls on a plate. Rice balls, Zoro’s favourite thing to eat. Beside them is several plates of Zoro’s favourites food, most of them dishes he’d grown up eating. A nice bottle of Sake rests beside the empty side of the blanket, Sanji having a bottle of wine resting against his hip. Zoro feels like he’s accidentally walked into an alternative universe, maybe the forest is haunted, or this is some devil users influence.

“What the fuck, cook?” He stands over Sanji, his arms crossed as he deliberates unsheathing a sword or not.

“What?” Sanji growls, staring up at him with his one uncovered eye. “You got a problem, Mosshead?”

Zoro squats down, getting close to Sanji’s face, studying the familiar bump of his nose, the curve of his brows, the sweep of his hair. Sanji freezes, finally looking as confused as Zoro.

“You look like, Curley. Did you bang your head or something?” Zoro leans back on his heels.

Sanji is reeling, his lips still tingling from the tickle of breath that had ghosted over them when Zoro had spoken so close to him. He’s used to feeling breathless when they get that close, used to feeling a flush on his neck and a tightening in his gut, but usually it’s because he’s pissed off and about to unleash his best attacks. This isn’t that.

“Wha-What are you talking about?” Sanji shakes his head, trying to clear it.

“This.” Zoro waves at the blanket. “Why the fuck did you make all this? This is- well this is all stuff I like. You make this for the whole crew?”

Sanji breathes out a sigh of relief. Of course, the idiot is confused.

“I do this for everyone’s birthday, moron. Even yours.” He lights himself another cigarette, so he doesn’t have to look at Zoro’s reaction.

Zoro stares at Sanji for a long uncomfortable silence. The cook made all this for him? He came out here with it prepared for just the two of them to enjoy together? Not the whole crew, not like usual, not really. This is different. He’s treating Zoro differently. He’s planned this for just the two of them…on Zoro’s birthday…

Zoro sits the other side of the plates, grabbing a rice ball and taking a bite out of it. As always, it tastes annoyingly good. Every flavour and texture exactly how Zoro likes it, the weirdo having studied him for the months they’ve been travelling together. Hold on-

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

Sanji can feel the tick of annoyance on the back of his head. Of course, instead of giving any sign of enjoying the food or a compliment, the brute has to be suspicious. Instead of replying, Sanji grabs the slip of paper out of the inner pocket of his blazer and passes it over to Zoro, grabbing a rice ball for himself as his hand passes back over the picnic. He’s hungry too.

Zoro reads it while loudly chewing on another mouthful of food. Sanji tries to ignore how disgusting it is by studying the expression on Zoro’s face. The mosshead must feel him watching because he keeps his expression schooled, although his lips still perk up in the corners. He laughs a bit as he tucks it into his pocket.

Zoro doesn’t say anything more about it. The two eat in silence for a while, Zoro making his way through the sake at a scary pace, before pawing at Sanji for some of his wine too. The cook allows him, for once, given it is his birthday. But when the sound of eating starts to die down, he can’t help but ask the question that’s been eating at him ever since he opened the letter.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone it’s your birthday?”

Zoro wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the dribble of red wine from his lips. He’s messy about it though and his bottom lip still glistens a bit, the shine only lit by the moonlight that was breaking through the trees above them, and the one candle Sanji had lit so they could see what they were grabbing.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.” Zoro shrugs, eating the last of the fish to clean the final dish. “Plus, I didn’t want one of your shitty cakes.”

“Excuse me?” Sanji is genuinely floored by the comment. How dare the green haired idiot-

“They’re too sweet.” Zoro complains, playing with the hilt of his sword instead of saying it to Sanji’s face.

“No, you just hate sweet things.” Sanji huffs, putting some plates away in case he needs to lunge at the green-haired idiot to strangle him.

“And I wouldn’t make one for your birthday anyways, Marimo. I wouldn’t be the future pirate king’s cook if I was that bad at reading my crewmates tastes.”

Sanji feels his cheeks heat up as Zoro turns to him with a studying look, suddenly intrigued, or maybe impressed.

“Although now I don’t think you deserve the dessert I did make.” Sanji folds his arms, not quite over the earlier insult.

Zoro ignores the pout and reaches into the basket instead, Sanji watches him out of the corner of his eye. He can’t explain to himself why he’s suddenly so nervous about what Zoro will think of his choice of Birthday dessert.

The swordsman pulls out a small tub of one of the few desserts he genuinely enjoys, one that he remembers eating every summer at the dojo, passing them out between his classmates. He picks up one of the warabi mochi like it’s delicate, like he might crush it before it makes it to his mouth. Sanji had only made the dessert once, and Zoro had complained about some aspects of it. He thought the cook would never bother to try it again.

This time, it’s perfect. An honest moan leaves Zoro’s mouth as he swallows, his tongue licking at some of the filling that was left on his lips. Sanji feels his whole face flush red at the sight. His heart is drumming in his chest now, his eyes flicking between Zoro’s eyes and his lips. He watches his Adam’s apple as he swallows the first piece.

Sanji’s mouth dries up, his palms suddenly clammy. Zoro has never reacted so openly to anything Sanji has made for him. It unsettles him, it leaves him feeling warm and clumsy. He throws the bud of his smoked cigarette away and finds his fingers are shaking.

“You made this today, just for my birthday?” Zoro’s voice is soft, a foreign tone to Sanji’s ears.

“Obviously, idiot.” Sanji looks away then, he can’t look weak. He can’t let the mosshead realise how sick he suddenly feels. He wants to run away, to forget that Zoro can be soft, that the two of them can sit like this.

He hears Zoro moving, can feel him getting closer on the blanket. But he doesn’t say a word. When Sanji turns his head to see what the fuck is going on, he feels Zoro’s hand as it grasps the back of his head. He stares at Zoro’s closed eyes as their lips meet.

Sanji is pretty sure his heart stops. He feels winded as rough lips kiss him softly, as Zoro’s grip on the back of his neck is light, nothing like the way they usually grab one another. His lips taste like the syrup drizzled on the mochi and Sanji’s chef brain registers how it interacts with the dessert wine he’d brought with him, unintentionally matching the two so they form the perfect taste between their lips.

Sanji is breathless, his stomach now feeling like its own oven as a fire ignites. He can feel blood rushing south, his body reacting in a split second to something he hasn’t had since he left the Baratie, something he hasn’t had time to have.

He’s enjoying it, getting lost in the other body that draws itself closer to him. It’s only when Sanji’s eyes flutter closed, when his lips match the rhythm of the ones against them, that his brain catches up to body.

This is Roronoa Zoro he’s kissing.

Sanji pushes against the Marimo’s chest, Zoro falling back on his hands as he stares confused at the reaction. As though Sanji is the crazy one. Sanji places two fingers to his lips, his expression horrified.

“What the fuck was that?” He screams, waving his hands around, not sure if he should be kicking the oaf or running as quick as he can back to the ship.

“What?” Zoro huffs, not moving away from the blonde but glaring down at the sand in front of them. He looks confused too, like he wasn’t expecting Sanji to question him.

“What? What? You just kissed me, Mosshead. What the fuck is that about?” Sanji realises he’s panting between his words. He’s pretty sure he’s going into shock from how quick his blood pressure has risen.

Zoro’s gaze whips to the blonde, feeling hurt that Sanji is making a big deal about this, as though the cook didn’t start it.

“People kiss on dates!” He throws back, defensive as he realises, he’s just been rejected.

Sanji can’t even process the words Zoro has just spoken.

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.” Zoro goes to get up then, beyond embarrassed as he realises he’s spent the last half an hour misreading the situation entirely. Might as well make the rest of this as painless as possible to hopefully save face.

“Wait, you stupid fucking moss for brains.” Sanji grapples at Zoro’s wrist, pulling him back onto the blanket before he can straighten up. The cook is panicking now, thinking back to everything he’d said since arriving, unsure where Zoro’s logic had jumped to thinking it was a date.

I mean, the situation was very date like, Sanji muses. But it’s Zoro and Sanji, having a picnic beneath the moon and stars isn’t a date, it’s a truce.

Zoro looks furious now, his whole body is tense like a spring coiled to bounce. Sanji is starting to piece together the blush on the other’s face is genuine. Zoro thought it was a date. He kissed Sanji because he wanted to. He likes him.

The earth tilts beneath Sanji as he realises he’s not instantly disgusted. He stares at his own hand, anchoring Zoro in place. He clearly doesn’t want the swordsman to leave. Sanji doesn’t want this to be over.

“Why did you think it’s a date?” He almost whispers the words, afraid he’s hallucinating. That Zoro is going to turn and ask him what the fuck he’s on about.

“You- You made me a picnic for just the two of us…on my birthday.”

The sentence still doesn’t make the most sense to Sanji. He supposes, if he’d done it for a woman, maybe Sanji would see it as a possible first date. But the term first date and Zoro has no connection in his brain. It feels impossible that the two could be linked.

“I- I get that, baka. But- Well I- that doesn’t automatically mean it’s a date.” Sanji protests, letting Zoro slip his wrist away when he realises he’s not going to bolt.

“Well, that’s what people do on their birthday.” Zoro grumbles, looking anywhere but at Sanji. “They spend it with someone they like.”

He says the last word with a heavy emphasis so that it can’t be misunderstood.

Sanji is at a loss. He’s never heard of such a thing.

“Marimo, I have no idea what you mean. Most people spend it with family and friends.”

Zoro looks at him then, with genuine surprise.

“Not where I come from.” He splutters, showing his embarrassment now as his face flushes bright red, even worse than before. “Couples spend it together, and then- then you spend it with friends on a different day.”

Zoro wants the ground to swallow him up. He can handle rejection, he can handle being wrong, but he hates that he didn’t realise what he was doing. He though Sanji had been the one to be vulnerable, to offer up a date the way he did. He’d been surprised by the blonde’s bravery about it, had accepted the silent confession and responded to it as confidently as he could muster.

He’s an idiot.

Sanji takes in the unfamiliar expression of regret on the other man’s face, and feels his chest tighten. He doesn’t want Zoro to regret this. Sanji doesn’t regret it. As the confusion lifts, Sanji properly accepts his own reaction. It’s…unexpected…but then again, everything is on the Grand Line.

“Look Cook, just forget-”

It’s Zoro’s turn to be surprised by a hand grabbing his chin, by lips pressing onto his own and by the blonde that leans forward so close, Zoro could swear he was sitting on the swordsman’s lap.

“I was surprised, idiot. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Zoro stares into Sanji’s eyes, their foreheads resting against one another as Sanji separates from the kiss long enough to speak.

“Well, you seemed fucking pissed off.” Zoro defends, muttering the words almost against Sanji’s lips.

Sanji sighs, Zoro scrunching up his nose at the sensation across his skin.

“That’s…fair.” Sanji feels Zoro’s arm wrap around his waist, he relaxes against the other man’s chest, a hand reaching up to caresses the side of Zoro’s face and run itself through his hair.

Sanji lets out a chuckle.

“This feels like a dream.” He admits, suddenly wondering how much wine he drank. Maybe, this is a dream.

“I know.” Zoro agrees, his arm tightening it’s hold on Sanji. His other arm wraps under Sanji’s ass and tugs him up onto Zoro’s thighs. The position a lot more comfortable than sitting side by side.

Sanji laughs as he’s manhandled, not used to someone as strong as Zoro holding him in his arms. Strangely, it’s the least intimidated Sanji has ever felt in the presence of the other man.

“I don’t want to wake up.” Sanji confesses, his heart fluttering as he comes to terms with what’s happening. The brute can love, the brute can be soft and gentle and hold Sanji like he’s both diamond and glass.

“You’re such a fucking sap.” Zoro groans, his cheeks pink from the words. “Just don’t say another fucking thing and kiss me already.”

Sanji laughs as he tightens his grip on Zoro’s head, pulling at the tufts of hair hard enough that Zoro lets out a hiss of pain. That the moss-head looks at him with the same eyes he uses before they fight. The electricity is there, static between them, as fiery as ever.

“Anything for the birthday boy.”

Sanji is right about his earlier prediction. Zoro doesn’t make it back to the ship before midnight. Although, it’s not for a reason he could ever have predicted.

Instead, when midnight rolls around the pair of them lie on the picnic blanket, everything else packed away. They stare at the stars as they lie side by side, Sanji’s head resting on Zoro’s arm as they hold each other.

Zoro stares at the blonde as Sanji points out constellations and tries to explain to Zoro how he can use them to not get so lost all the time. But the swordsman is not paying attention. Only one thought remains in his head now.

He has one hell of a thank you letter to write to his bounty hunter friends.

#one piece #one piece zosan #roronoa zoro #sanji #zosan #fanfic #vinsmoke sanji #zoro #zoro x sanji #zosan fanfic #happy birthday zoro #zoro birthday #idiots #misscommunication #they're in love your honor #zosan fanic #zosan fluff

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babiebom · 6 months

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Hey brother, I am humbly requesting a SDV Sam (or Alex) fic about the harvest festival & the fortune teller. I just think it’s a cute idea to see what the fortune teller says to Sam before/after meeting the farmer

A/N: this is such a cute idea!! Since this is more of a one shot request I can do both on this post? Hopefully by the time you see this it isn’t too far into the future!! Hopefully you enjoy how I wrote this!! Sorry it took a little while!

Genre:oneshot, fluff, some angst.

Tw:mention of death, mention of depression/insecurities, cursing, 2 mentions of the war that goes on in the game.

Wc: 0.5k for Alex / 0.5k for Sam

Sdv Masterlist

Alex

Alex was never one to go visit the fortune teller. He simply doesn’t really believe in magic, or the ability to see the future. Sure, there was the weird wizard that lived near the forest, and the monsters that live in the caves, but those were just outliers and didn’t have anything to do with the general population. The first and only time he went to it as an adult, was with Haley. He hated his fortune then, it tore down all his dreams and put him into an even more insecure place than he was in before.

No mom, no dad, and aging grandparents and now the woman in the tent is telling him that his current girlfriend isn’t his soulmate or the one he will end up with, and they’re saying his gridball career won’t take off and he’s going to end up in Pelican Town for the rest of his life? Actual dogshit.

It’s his own fault that he asked in the first place, he thinks. Haley wasn’t too mad with her fortune, and she didn’t seemed all that torn up about the fortune teller saying they weren’t meant for each other. It just pissed him off even more. Did this mean they were going to break up? Should they? Did he even have to listen or believe the fortune teller? It was probably just bullshit anyways, a scam to get idiots to spend more money to find out their future because she scared them. He’s never doing the stupid fortune thing again!

“Let’s do the fortune teller!” Your eyes are shining so brightly with excitement that he can’t say no. Obviously he hates the damned scam, and he didn’t have to agree but he liked you too much to disagree with visiting the woman one last time.

You shove him inside first, already looking through your backpack for your coin bag. “You go first.”

He swallows and steps up to the woman, glaring at her openly. She makes no move to react to his obvious discontent, instead waiting for him to dish out money so she could say something else to crush his hopes and dreams. At least you’re in here with him to hear what actual bullshit this is…you’re kicked out of the tent while he’s getting his fortune read.

“Hmm…I see you in the town’s square…it looks like you’re receiving a mermaid pendant. Looks like someone wants to marry you!”

“Marriage? To who?” He hopes that it’s you. You weren’t really in a relationship right now, but he does hope that it’s you giving him that pendant.

“Hmm…you’re watching a gridball match with the other guys in town…looks fun! It seems like you’ve brought everyone together.”

“The crystal ball has moved on…I see you and the farmer. You’re laughing together on the beach, looks like you’re holding a ball. The way you’re going it looks like you two are quite close! Ah…the crystal ball has gone dim. That’s all I can do for you, young one.”

Stepping out of the tent, Alex somehow feels better. He’s going to get married at some point, and you and him are going to be on good terms for a while. Maybe the fortune teller isn’t totally uncool.

Sam

The fortune teller was one of the creepiest attractions of the fair to Sam by far. Magic was something that he thought was cool, inspiring even, but that doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with it. Him, Abigail, and Sebastian get their fortunes read every single year, paying attention to whatever has changed, what has and hasn’t come true. It’s fun and sometimes a little scary when things turn out how the fortune teller said it would.

Abigail liked it the most out of the three. The year before he meets you is the first time in a while that his fortune had changed. The woman had said specifically that “someone was coming to the valley that would bring the budding success of his music.” All he really heard then was that his music career was going to take off at some point, and that’s all he really needed to keep working towards his goal.

You hold his arm tightly as you walk around the fair along with Abigail and Sebastian. It’s your first fair since you’ve come to Pelican Town, and Sam is all too willing to show you around. Besides, Pierre was probably going to win the stupid competition, again, and he wanted to be able to support you closely. Not because he has a crush or anything (he does), he’s just a good friend! “We should show the Farmer the fortune teller! See if they get a good one or not!”

This starts your groups trip to the tent. You seem a bit anxious about getting your fortune read, so like the good friend Sam is, he offers to go first and tell everyone his fortune to show you it isn’t so bad.

The woman smiles at him as he enters, and he immediately returns her positive energy. She always said good thing(except when she predicted his father was going to be deployed because of the war) so he liked her. He paid her quickly and watched as the crystal ball begins to glow.

“I see you performing on a small stage, the person who is going to support your music career is front and center. They are going to be the reason that you are performing so passionately. They buy some of your cd’s to help support you.”

He wonders for a second if that’s you. He had been feeling a little more inspired since you came around, and you never hesitated to praise him and his music when you get a chance to listen to him play in his room. “Hmm…I see you in a big house, something is playing on the television. The children seem excited about whatever is playing, so do you and the farmer. They’re smiling so brightly at you, don’t let them lose that light.”

It absolutely has to be you. He wonders what you’re so happy about, and who the kids are. Are they your kids? Maybe his mind is going too far, especially since a relationship wasn’t mentioned.

“The crystal ball is shifting…your father returns from war. He is safe, and unharmed…but he is not the same as he was. It seems that he is unhappy…oh…”

The crystal ball grows dim, maybe the last bit wasn’t totally good, but the rest of it was. He gets to perform, and you’re there cheering him on. His heart thumps as he exits the tent and meets your eyes. The way you’re looking at him is so bright. He feels excitement full his body, he has so much to look forward to.

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wake-me-up-inside-imagines · 7 months

Note

Hii idk if your request are open and if you write polly but could you write a sugawara x daichi x asahi x reader

Where the reader moves from their home country and to Japan and it’s how they meet the three their are a first and it’s how they end up together idk if that makes sense sorry :)

AHHHH YES! There is not nearly enough daisugasahi x reader fics and its a crime against humanity. I will gladly fix that though so I hope you enjoy!

Poly! Daichi, Asahi, and Suga with a foreign reader

Warnings: none

Gn! reader

(The country reader comes from is not named so anyone can read this)

-Moving from your home country to Japan was certainly a nerve wracking experience, especially since you’d be attending your last year of grade school amongst new people in an unfamiliar place, in a language you aren’t proficient in. After a few weeks of loneliness you decide that you won’t sit still and be a loner the whole school year.

-You thought that getting involved in something, a club, and team, anything with other people might help you make a couple friends might be good for you, and you heard a pretty cute guy in your bio class talk about how the men’s volleyball team could use a second manager, so you decide to apply for the position

-When you go into the gym to meet the team for the first time, you’re immediately bombarded by two very eager second years and and a short red headed first year who were very curious as to who you were (the school doesn’t get students from other countries often so they were curious about you)

-Suga takes pity on you and puts the team to practice while you, Daichi, Kiyoko, Ukai and Takeda go over your new duties as a manager with you, and you eventually start your time as Karasunos manager

-The first few weeks are pretty eventful for you, you’re just getting to know the ropes of the job and also getting to know everybody on the team. It doesn’t help that there was some drama between some of the team members and the former team ace (or the fact that after it was all said and done he joined the team again), and it certainly didn’t help that you had to train another new manger when your still new yourself (you don’t blame Yachi though, it’s not her fault, and besides, she’s a very sweet kid).

-It was hard adjusting to the club environment at first, but Kiyoko made sure to introduce you properly to everyone, which is how you ended up talking to the 3rd years more. As much as you both love the 1st and 2nd year students, you need to make friends in your own grade

-Kiyoko begins a habit of starting hangouts for just the 3rd years, nothing big, just a few hours hanging out at a cafe or someone’s house. That’s primarily how you got to know the three third year boys, through these hangouts. It’s a great opportunity to get to know each other better in a relaxed setting

- I imagine the three were already together before they met you, so they’re all used to a polyamorous relationship by the time you came along. They never really thought that they would want to add another to their group, but then again, they didn’t know they would meet you

-Asahi probably fell first, the poor guy wears his heart on his sleeve so it’s pretty easy for him to fall for you. Suga and Daichi could see how enamored by you Asahi was, and after a little time you captured their hearts too.

-They all want to know more about your home country and culture, but no one asks more questions than Suga. He wants to know everything there is to know about your culture, your home, what living in your native country was like, what customs you have, what holidays you celebrate, everything! He’s a naturally curious guy and the other two are either too scared that they’ll bother you or worried they’ll ask something offensive

-Asahi does muster up the courage to ask you about any cultural clothing you might have, and if you’d say it’s ok to, he’d be more than happy to try and see if he can sew it himself. I can imagine him gifting you a handmade outfit if he manages to get the hang of making it for your birthday or some other holiday

-After awhile it’s painfully obvious to anyone with eyes that the trio is hardcore pining after you, it’s a wonder you don’t see it yourself! Sugar’s always trying to get your attention (much to the embarrassment of his boyfriends) Asahi’s stutter has magically appeared once again, and Daichi goes red any time you’re in close proximity to him. Honestly the whole teams just begging for them to ask you out at this point, it’s getting painful to watch

-The three have no idea how to ask you out, or if you’re even into poly relationships, so they settle for asking you to meet them at one of their houses so they can speak to you privately

-Daichi takes the lead, explaining to you how they’ve been in love with you for awhile and that they would really love to date you, but they all understand if you don’t like them or if you aren’t comfortable being in a poly relationship. They all kind of expect you to say no, simply because their relationship is very much outside the norm, but there’s still a little hope inside each of them that you’ll say yes

-When you do say yes, everyone is over the moon. Asahi nearly starts sobbing from joy and relief (he totally thought you were going to reject them), Suga practically tackles you in a hug, and Daichi let’s put a huge sigh of relief before prying Suga off of you. Prepare for a long night of cuddles because now that the boys have you, they’re determined to spend as much time with you as possible

#x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi x reader #daichi sawamura #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi #asahi x reader #asahi azumane x reader #asahi azumane #kiyoko shimizu #Daichi x Suga x Asahi #daichi x Suga x Asahi x reader

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suddencolds · 3 months

Text

The Worst Timing | [3/?]

part 3 (6k words)!! you can read [part 1] here! (it gets worse before it gets better). this chapter is more character-centric (sorry again 🙇‍♀️). i wanted to post this before work eats me alive this week T.T

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

It’s fine, until it isn’t.

—

Yves gets home, showers first (only after Vincent insists that he shower first), heads out into the living room, and shuts off the lights. The lights in the bedroom are still on, bleeding in from the doorframe.

His head hurts. Every part of him feels cold. He burrows deep into the covers on the pullout bed, rearranges himself until he finds a sufficiently comfortable position, and shuts his eyes.

Tomorrow, he’ll be away for most of the afternoon—with the wedding rehearsal, and then the rehearsal dinner with the rest of his family—and Vincent will grab dinner and drinks with some of Genevieve’s friends in the meantime. Yves will probably be home late. They won’t see each other for the entire day—at least, until he gets back from dinner some time in the late evening.

Everything for the wedding is ready. His suit jacket is ironed, his shoes polished; his speech has been written for weeks and rehearsed first alone, and then in front of Leon and Victoire, who’d told him how to make it funnier (Leon) and more concise (Victoire). Two days from today, Aimee and Genevieve will be married.

All he has to do, now, is just see it through.

—

Yves wakes up coughing.

He feels distinctly wrong. His head is throbbing. His limbs feel strangely leaden, like they’re weighing him down, like it’d be a considerable inconvenience to move them—he isn’t sure if he’d be able to sit up properly.

He presses a hand to his forehead, in an attempt to gauge whether he’s running a fever. It’s no use—his hand is warm and clammy. He can’t tell.

Fuck. This is not good.

One wrong breath leaves him coughing, harshly enough that the coughs seem to reverberate through his frame. His throat burns. He reaches blindly through the dark in an attempt to find one of the waters he’d bought yesterday night, at the convenience store. Had he left a bottle on the nightstand? Or had he gotten rid of the one he’d drunk from last night? His breath hitches, so sharply that he has practically no hope of holding back.

“Hhehh’YISHh-CHHiew! hhHEHH’iIDTSSHh-iiEW!”

The sneezes tear through him with little warning, leaving him flushed and shivering. It’s not warm enough in the living room. He doesn’t know if it’s the air conditioning in the room, or the relative thinness of the blanket he’s under, or if perhaps the window is open just a crack, or if perhaps he just hasn’t been moving enough to get warm. He’s not sure he could pinpoint the cause if he tried.

The only thing that seems evident to him, now, is that he feels immediately, uncomfortably cold. He could get out of bed and look for something to wear—he hadn’t packed any thick jackets, because Provence in March isn’t especially cold, but even one of the dress jackets would be better than nothing, so long as it’s one of the ones which can withstand getting a little wrinkled.

But when he sits up—or, rather, when he attempts to sit up—he feels the world tilt, uncomfortably. He braces himself on the frame of the couch, propping himself up with one arm up on the armrest.

He definitely has a fever, even if there’s no way for him to verify that right now. Otherwise, it would be strange for him to feel so cold. Even now, only half-vertical, he finds himself shivering so hard he can barely move the blanket back up to sit comfortably around his shoulders.

One wrong breath sends a painful twinge down his throat, and he finds himself coughing, gripping the armrest tightly to keep himself upright. He should get out of bed. He should find water, put on a jacket, make an attempt to get back to sleep.

For now, all he can do is muffle the coughs as best he can into a cupped hand. His chest aches with every cough. Every breath he takes in feels like it only manages to irritate his lungs further.

Through the haze of his exhaustion, he thinks he hears footsteps. The knowledge that he’s keeping Vincent up is the last thing he needs, right now.

Through the crack under the doorframe, he can see the line of light from the hallway, which is lit even at night. Maybe if he’s going to be up anyways, he should spend the night out in the hallway—at the very least, he’ll be a little quieter out there.

Someone presses a bottle of water into his hands.

“Drink,” Vincent says. “It’s uncapped.”

Yves brings the water to his lips and takes a short, tentative sip, and then another. His throat is sorer than it had been yesterday—the water burns against the back of his throat as he swallows.

Vincent steps past him, past the edge of the couch, to do—something. Yves doesn’t know what. He hears a click, and the lamp on the cabinet by the sofa flickers on, floods the living room with dim yellow light. Vincent regards him carefully, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry,” Yves says. The next breath he takes in exacerbates the tickle at the back of his throat, and he twists away, muffling cough after cough into a tightly cupped hand. “I didn’t mbean to wake you.”

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. He looks… upset, somehow, though the light is dim enough that his expression is hard to make out. Yves tries to think of what else he should say, but his head feels heavy.

He tries to re-cap the bottle of water, though his hands are shaky enough to make it a little difficult. Vincent takes the bottle from him and screws the cap tight in one fluid motion. Yves tries and fails to think of something to joke about.

Vincent presses a hand to his forehead. His hand is comfortingly warm, and a little calloused. It’s strange, how good it feels to be touched—he knows and knows well that it means nothing, but the gentle press of Vincent’s fingers to his skin—when he’s spent the past few days trying to keep his distance from everyone—is strangely comforting. Yves leans into the contact, despite all logic.

Vincent pulls away, too soon. “You’re—”

“Warm?” Yves finishes for him.

“Feverish,” Vincent clarifies, with a frown. “Did you already know that?”

“I had a hunch,” Yves answers, honestly.

Vincent just stares at him, for a moment, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. Yves repositions the blankets over his shoulders, a little self-conscious. “It’s fide. I’ll take something for it,” Yves says. “You should go back to sleep.”

“We slept early,” Vincent says. “I’m not tired.”

“What time is it?”

Vincent glances at his watch. “5:34.”

“That’s still early enough that you should be asleep.” Yves sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. His head hurts, and there’s a prickle in his nose again. “Sorry. I can be quieter.”

His breath hitches. In a frantic attempt to keep his promise, he lifts the blanket to his face and stifles—or, rather, attempts to stifle—the sneeze into the fabric.

“hh—! hhEHH’NGKTSHCH-iiew!”

It’s still not very quiet, despite his best efforts, and the attempt to stifle leaves him coughing a little. It’s a good thing they’re not sharing a bed, he thinks. He hasn’t exactly been careful about keeping this illness to himself.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, rising to his feet. He ducks into the bedroom, only to be back a moment later with a box of tissues, which he tucks into the crook between the pullout bed and the sofa armrests, conveniently in reach. “Was it like this last night?”

“What?”

“Were you unable to sleep last night?”

It’s not an accusation, but Yves freezes at the question, nonetheless. For a moment, he worries—that Vincent knows precisely how little sleep he’s gotten since they landed in France. That Vincent was awake last night—or worse, that Yves was the one who kept him up—which is why he’s asking this question now.

But if he knew, wouldn’t he have said something about it yesterday?

“I slept fine,” Yves says.

There’s a cold breeze coming in from somewhere—from the hallway, or from one of the air conditioning vents, he can’t say. Yves tries his best to suppress a shiver. He can tell, by the change to Vincent’s expression—the way Vincent’s eyes linger on him a little too long—that he doesn’t do it well enough.

“You should really have taken the bed,” Vincent says, with a sigh. “It’s warmer.”

“It’s warm here too,” Yves says. There probably wouldn’t even be a problem if he weren’t feverish—it’s just the relative temperature difference that’s making him shiver. “Are you goidg to stop interrogating me ndow?”

“If you stop giving me reasons to be worried,” Vincent says plainly, “Then I will.”

Yves sighs. He’s cold, and exhausted, and he wants this argument to be over. He doesn’t want to have to justify all of this to Vincent, who should be enjoying this vacation instead of worrying about Yves and whatever cold-slash-flu he’s managed to pick up this time. “This is not the first time I’ve been under the weather,” he says. “I—” he veers away to face the opposite direction from Vincent, pulls the blanket up to cover his face. “hHeh-!-hHEHh‘nGKTTSHH-iiIEw!”

“Bless you.”

“—I kdow what I’m doing, snf. I don't even feel that—hh… hHheh'iiDDZZCHH-iIIEW!” The sneeze comes on too quickly for him to stifle. “—that udwell,” he finishes, sniffling, though that’s not entirely truthful. He lifts an elbow to muffle a few coughs into it, blinking through the tears that are surfacing, irritatingly, in his vision.

“So you’ve said,” Vincent says.

“Yes,” Yves says. “You can trust me on this.”

Vincent looks at him for a moment. For a moment, Yves waits for him to refute this, waits for him to point out just how unprepared he is, just how little of a plan he has aside from sticking this out until he has the chance to crash and burn.

“What do you need?” he says, instead.

Yves blinks at him. It’s not the question he expects Vincent to ask.

“Nothidg,” he says, honestly. “Seriously. It’s just a cold. I’ll take somethidg for it when I wake up.”

“Cold medicine?” To Yves’s nod, Vincent says, “I can get it for you, if you want.”

“No need. I’ll probably just — hhEhh-! HhEHh’IITShh-iiEW! Ugh… I’ll pick somethidg up from the codvenience store on the way to breakfast.”

Vincent turns aside to muffle a yawn into a cupped hand. Yves is unpleasantly reminded that he’s probably the sole reason why Vincent is awake right now.

“You should sleep, seriously,” Yves says, insistent. “Maybe you’ll be able to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep before sunrise. I’ll be okay.”

Vincent blinks at him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Vincent says, softly.

Then he stands, sets the bottle of water on the cabinet by the sofa, switches off the lamp, and heads back into the bedroom. Yves listens as his footsteps recede. His sinuses are starting to feel like they’re slightly waterlogged, and the pressure from behind his eyelids is back, throbbing.

The tickle in his nose heightens, momentarily, and he finds himself muffling another set of sneezes into the bedsheets. He desperately hopes it’s quiet enough to not be disruptive. It’s hard to be fully quiet when whatever he has leaves him sneezing so forcefully, but he’s determined to try.

The coughing fit that follows leaves his throat feeling like it’s been nearly scraped raw. He clears his throat quietly, though that hurts, too. He takes another small sip of the water, though it goes down his throat with such difficulty he finds himself coughing again.

Two more days. He just has to make it through. He’ll grab a pack of cold and flu medication from the convenience store downstairs—the kind that’s supposed to smother all the symptoms—and then he’ll be good as new, he’s sure.

Yves shuts his eyes, turns to the side, and tries his best to get comfortable. He’ll be less disruptive if he’s asleep. It’s just getting there that’s the problem. He’s exhausted—that fact only seems to become more evident the longer he stays awake—but every time he finds himself drifting off, he’s jolted awake by another untimely sneeze which wrenches him back into consciousness.

In college, whenever he was up unreasonably late for some reason, Erika used to tell him to Stop worrying, Yves, I can hear you overthinking from the other side of the room. Ask anyone else and they’d say that Yves has his life reasonably put together—being the eldest of three does that to you. He’d spent his formative years growing up trying to be the sort of person Leon and Victoire could lean on—the kind of person impervious to the sorts of stressful situations he’d gotten regularly thrown into—and for the most part, it’d worked.

He’d learned, early on, that it is not really that difficult to keep things from people. He likes to think of himself as reliable, even if that means that whenever something does come up—something that feels frustrating and insurmountable—it doesn’t really hurt any less when he goes through it privately.

Erika had always been good at seeing through his bullshit. It was one of the things he liked about her—that he could lean on her if he needed to, without worrying that it’d take its toll on her. That she’d take a look at his problems, which always felt so all-consuming in the moment, and make them seem simple and solvable and almost trivial.

It’s hard not to miss her, now, when he’s alone in the dark, devoid of any and all distractions. Or maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was just having someone he didn’t have to hide from.

Yves wonders, faintly, what Vincent would’ve said if he were more honest with him. He and Vincent aren’t actually dating, but he thinks maybe Vincent would understand. He thinks that they’ve been getting along well, as of late—he might even consider them friends.

But then again, hasn’t Vincent agreed to do all of this—lying to Yves’s friends and family, falsifying their relationship, letting Yves drag him from one celebration to the next—because it’s easy? Because he is willing to tolerate going to a party, or a housewarming, or a wedding, where there are no strings attached, when after the night is over he can drop the act cleanly?

It’s a lie that they’re telling, but it’s a self contained one. The moment they step foot out of whatever event they’re attending, there’s nothing left to pretend. Yves can go back to living his own life, and Vincent can go back to living his. Would Vincent really have agreed to do any of this if that weren’t the case?

It’s going to be fine, Erika would have said. Just breathe. She’s not around to tell him this, now, but he still tries.

The medicine will be enough to get him through today, and the day after. It has to be.

—

When Yves falls asleep, it’s the kind of restless sleep that sits somewhere in between unconsciousness and wakefulness. He dreams in fragments of scenes—him at Aimee and Genevieve’s wedding, the details hazy and illogical and unusually bright, the weddings he’d been to in the past all superimposed into one.

When he wakes up to the sound of his alarm, it’s to a pounding headache and what he’s certain must be a fever. He can’t seem to stop shivering. It’s already bright out—the curtains in the bedroom are pulled shut, but light streams in from the sliver of space between them.

He feels too cold and somehow entirely devoid of energy, though he doesn’t remember doing anything particularly tiring. Sitting up makes the throbbing pain in his head sharpen, so painfully that he has to grip the side of the couch to steady himself, blinking against the dizziness. If Aimee saw him right now, he thinks, she’d send him straight home—he’s in no state to attend a wedding, and he’s not sure if he’s in any state to pretend that’s not the case.

He breath hitches. He raises an arm to shield his face, habitually, even though there’s no one here to witness—

“hhEhh-’iZZSSHH’Iew!” The singular sneeze is, unfortunately, far from relieving. The tickle in his nose is irritatingly persistent, even when he reaches up to rub his nose, which is starting to run. “Hh-! hhEH-!! HEHh-’IDDZSCHh-yYew! hHEHH’iDDSCHh-iEWW!hhEhH-! H‘IIDzZCH-YIIIEEew! Ugh…” The sneezes scrape unpleasant against his already-sore throat, leaving him hunched over as he muffles cough after cough into his arm.

There’s a small packet of cold medicine on his bedside, along with an uncapped bottle of water, and Vincent is nowhere to be found. The medication is a relief. It’s strangely thoughtful—a part of him is a little worried that Vincent’s only gotten this for him out of a sense of obligation—but he’s grateful for it, nonetheless.

It’s exactly what he needs. Surely if he takes something for this, his symptoms will be, at the very least, tolerable enough for him to function as usual.

He picks up the packet, squints down at the instructions. The text is inconveniently small, and he’s always been better at speaking French than he is at reading it, but he gets it eventually. It’s supposed to last six hours. If he times this right, he can take a dose that will last him until the end of the rehearsal dinner tonight, and then—if he’s not feeling better by tomorrow—take another before the wedding starts.

It will be fine. He uncaps the bottle by the cabinet, downs two pills, squeezes his eyes shut, and sits there for a minute, forces himself to breathe, waits for the uncomfortable pressure in his temples to subside.

Then he shoots off a quick text—

Y: thanks for the cold meds :)

Y: sorry i essentially left you with some strangers (again)

Y: this seems to be a theme for me huh

Vincent texts him back just a few minutes later:

V: No problem. I hope you feel better soon

V: Leon and Victoire invited me out for lunch

Yves blinks. That’s a little surprising. But come to think about it, Vincent’s plans with Genevieve’s friends aren’t until dinner time, so it makes sense that he’s out doing something else.

His second thought is: he is definitely in for an earful from both Leon and Victoire.

Y: jealous! have fun!

His phone buzzes not long later with Vincent’s response.

V: I considered waking you, but I figured you could use the sleep

V: Do you want me to bring anything back?

Sure enough, when he checks his unread texts, Leon has texted him, are u alive????? And then, a few minutes later, ur sick? dude worst fucking timing ever 😦, to which Yves types back, thanks for your glowing reassurance

Victoire has sent him, vincent told me you’re sick :((( and, feel better soon (preferably before 3pm tomorrow!!), to which Yves says, thanks, fwding this to my body. hope it gets the message ✌️

Then he sends back to Vincent:

Y: i’m good, but thanks for asking! enjoy lunch

Vincent doesn’t say anything, to that, which means that he’s probably busy. Yves makes a note to thank him in person later. And again, much later—when all of this is over.

He just has to get the next day and a half to go according to plan.

—

The wedding rehearsal is mercifully uneventful. They walk twice through the processional, and then twice through the recessional. Yves picks a seat near one of the back rows, shivers through thirty minutes of run throughs, and tries to cough as discreetly as he can. He stifles every sneeze into a vague approximation of silence—he’s never been good at stifling—and does his best to ignore the mounting congestion in his sinuses, the persistent ache behind his temples.

It's easy enough to ignore all of those things in his excitement. He’s happy to be back—here, in France, surrounded by his whole extended family A part of this still feels unreal to him. He’s really here, in a place that feels familiar and simultaneously so novel, to watch someone who’s influenced him so fundamentally get married.

They’re all dressed for the spring weather. For the wedding rehearsal, Yves picked out a gray blazer over a dress shirt, chinos, and dress shoes. It’s not quite as formal as what he’s planning to wear tomorrow—the shoes are the only item he’s planning to rewear—but he finds himself distinctly grateful for the blazer jacket when the wind threads through the trees, knocking his tie slightly out of alignment.

It’s not unusually cold out—this would probably be considered temperate weather here, in March—but the wind is cold enough to offset the otherwise agreeable temperature.

The cold medicine helps, too—it keeps him feeling well enough to stay upright, which is already an accomplishment. He’s congested—his sinuses hurt a little, like everything’s a little waterlogged—but at least he isn’t sneezing as much as he was last night. His head still feels heavy, but the pain is a little duller, a little more muted; he’s tired, but he thinks right now he could stay awake on pure adrenaline alone.

“Dude, you sound awful,” Leon says, after the rehearsal ends.

“Thadks,” Yves says, muffling a fit of coughs into his elbow. “You always kdow just how to flatter me.”

Leon looks him over with a frown. “Are you sure you’re good for tomorrow?”

Yves doesn’t know. “Let’s hope so,” he says. “I don’t have any contingedcy plans for if I’m not.”

“I’m sure Aimee would understand if you told her.”

“I’m sure she would.” Yves looks over to where Aimee’s standing—she’s in the middle of a conversation with Yves’s parents and some of the adults on Genevieve’s side of the family. He’s too far to make out what she’s talking about, but she looks happy—she’s gesturing animatedly, her eyes bright. Every so often, he sees her flash a smile at Genevieve, as if to make sure Genevieve is following along.

Leon seems to understand that Yves has no intention of telling either of them, because he sighs. Yves changes the subject before he can say anything. “How was ludch with Vincent?”

“I like him,” Leon says, brightening at the question. “He’s surprisingly pretty funny. I hope you guys stay together.”

“Just because he’s funny?”

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” Leon says, grinning. “But you work with him, right? If he’s a nice person while he’s looking at like, tax forms, or whatever, he’s probably a great person when he’s doing anything else.”

“Yves! Leon!” someone waves them over. When Yves turns, he sees it’s Roy, one of his younger cousins from his dad’s side of the family. “Pictures!”

“Coming,” Leon shouts back.

Yves has no idea why there are pictures happening today when the wedding is tomorrow, but he fixes his tie hastily and heads over to join them both.

—

When dinner rolls around, Yves finds he has no appetite, but he eats what he can and spends the rest of the time making conversation with some of his aunts and uncles. He’s always found this kind of small talk to be more enjoyable than it is tedious. They ask about his job, about his workload, about life in the states, about his parents, about Vincent—all things that he knows intimately, and has no problem speaking on. He thinks that speaking in French makes him a little more deliberate with his answers, partially because he has to spend some time formulating the sentences when they get more complicated, and he likes that, too. It has all the camaraderie of a family gathering—warm and crowded, welcoming, a little chaotic.

He finds Genevieve after dinner, sitting out on the steps.

“Hey,” he says, in French. She looks up, and he motions to the steps beside her. “Do you want some time alone before you get swamped with codgratulations tomorrow, or can I crash your alone time early?”

She smiles up at him. “You can sit here,” she says.

He takes a seat on the steps—a few feet away from her, because he doesn’t want to risk passing whatever he has onto her. He doesn’t know Genevieve very well. He knows her best through Aimee—through the stories Aimee has told about her, through the way Aimee’s entire disposition seems to change around her—but he’s exchanged very few words with her outside of that, all over the summer during their yearly family reunions in France. His extended family is large enough and the family reunions hectic enough that he can probably count the number of conversations he’s had with her in person on one hand.

“So,” he says. “How are you feelidg before the big day?”

“Do you want the good answer, or the honest answer?”

“The honest one,” Yves says. “hit me with it.”

For a moment, Genevieve doesn’t say anything. Yves zips his jacket up a little higher, just to have something to do. Genevieve pulls her legs in towards her chest.

“I’m terrified,” she says.

“You think somethidg might go wrong?” Yves asks, surprised. “You guys have planned this all out so thoroughly.”

“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s more like—this is probably going to be one of the most important things I’ve ever done,” she says. “You know, when something is really important to you, so it’s just that much more crucial that you don’t mess it up?”

“You’re the bride,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “I don’t think you can mess up. Unless you like, hheh-! hHheh… HEH’IIDZschH-YIEEW! snf-! Unless you get cold feet and say no when you’re supposed to be saying your vows. I wod’t forgive you if you do that, by the way.”

She laughs. “God, no. I’d never do that. It’s just—there’s all this perceived… I don’t know. Like, fragility around the moment. Like you’re just waiting for the moment to crystallize, and once it sets, it will be like that forever, so you have to make sure that it crystallizes right.”

“I’m guessing you’re ndot a fan of, like, pottery,” Yves says. He tries thinking about what other kinds of art carry the same lack of tolerance for backwards revision. “Or sculpting.”

“I haven’t tried either of those things,” she says. “Though I would probably be bad at them.”

Yves looks off into the distance, towards the countryside, the rows of verdant green hills which unfurl before them, the white cobblestone paths, the houses lining the winding roads all the way to the horizon.

“I think you don’t have to be so concerned about what it’s supposed to be,” he says. “You can give yourself permission to just—live it. Enjoy it, free of expectations. Who cares what you think about it after, right,” he says. “You’ll have a ring on your left hand. That’s good enough to offset any—well, awkwardness, or clumsiness, or anything, because as the bride, you are sort of incapable of doing anything wrong, by default.”

“I guess,” Genevieve says.

“It’d be a disservice to Aimee if you spent the wedding worrying about how to get things right idstead of like, just living,” Yves says, turning to face her. “What’s the worst that could happen? Like, you spill your drink during the wedding toast, or your mascara smears a little, or you trip on your wedding gown and you have to be helped up by the woman you love most? I think that almost makes it more romantic,” he says. “Because however the moment crystallizes, it’ll be you.”

“Did you learn all of this through pottery and sculpting?” Genevieve asks, wiping at her eyes. She looks a little better than before—she’s sitting up straighter, and the tension in her shoulders is less pronounced.

Yves grins at her. “I have a younger brother and a younger sister,” he says. He clears his throat again, though it doesn’t really do a good job at making his voice sound less hoarse. “It’s exactly as bad as you think it is. I have to be the one to talk them out of their stage fright like, all the time.”

Genevieve laughs. “It must be lively,” she says. “Your whole family is very accommodating.”

“They’re certaidly a handful,” Yves says, with a laugh that tapers off into a short cough. “I love them to death. And I’ll be happy to have you as part of them.”

She smiles at him. The evening light strikes the windblown strands of her hair gold. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah,” he says. “No problem.”

They sit for awhile in silence. Yves crosses his arms in an attempt to conserve warmth and tries his best not to shiver too visibly.

“How did you kdow it was her?” he asks—a sudden, impulsive question.

As soon as he says it, he feels the urge to take it back. Genevieve is already stressed out enough about the wedding without him asking her difficult, abstract questions the day before the ceremony. He opens his mouth to apologize.

“There was never any doubt,” she says.

When he looks over at her, her expression looks a little wistful.

“Like, one day I woke up and I realized that whatever future I imagined for myself—in Marseille, or elsewhere; as a copywriter, or a journalist, or a director, or something entirely different—she would always be there.” Yves understands that—back when he’d been dating Erika, he’d felt like that too. That she was going to be the last person he’d ever date. That there was no conceivable future for him that didn’t involve her.

“Those kinds of revelations would come at the most insignificant of times,” Genevieve says. “I’d look over her halfway through morning coffee, or I’d watch her pick groceries from the aisle, or I’d watch her fiddle with the radio as she drove, and then it would strike me.”

“That you wanted to be with her?”

“That I was happy.” Genevieve tilts her head back to face the setting sun. “I’m really happy. It sounds like such a simple thing, and it is, but even a few years ago I’m not sure if I could’ve told you that that was true. And I think that finding someone who makes you feel that way—like they’d guard your happiness under any circumstance—is really something special.”

“You were the one who proposed to her,” he says. He remembers Aimee texting him about it, the night after it’d happened, remembers how he’d excused himself from dinner somewhere or other, ducked out of the room to get on call with her. She’d sobbed recounting it, the engagement ring on her finger.

“I was,” Genevieve says. She smiles. “I knew that if I gave up this chance I’d be kicking myself for it for the rest of my life.”

—

When he gets back from dinner at last, it’s late.

The cold/flu medicine he took from earlier is starting to wear off. His whole body aches—spending the evening outside in the cold probably didn’t help with that—and even in the relative warmth of the hotel room, he finds that he can’t stop himself from shivering.

He takes a hot shower, which feels pleasantly indulgent in the moment, but not long after he shuts off the water, he finds himself shivering again. The absence of the hot water makes him a little dizzy—he finds himself gripping the tiled wall, pausing for a moment behind the shower curtain to catch his balance.

His head really hurts. It’s the kind of sharp, throbbing pain that makes him all too aware of his heartbeat. He gets changed, towels his hair dry, and steps out of the bathroom.

Vincent is sitting on the bed, reading something. He must’ve gotten back at some point while Yves was showering. At the sound of the door, he puts the book down and looks up.

“How was the wedding rehearsal?” he asks.

“Great,” Yves says. He clears his throat, but clearing his throat irritates his throat enough that he has to muffle a few coughs into his elbow. “How was dinner with Genevieve’s friends?”

“They were very nice,” Vincent says.

“Ndicer than my friends in New York?”

“I felt less like I was being evaluated,” Vincent says, with a smile. “But if they were to express their disapproval of me in French, I would be none the wiser.”

Yves laughs. “I’mb sure that even if you learned the ladguage in full, you wouldn’t hear any disapproval from them.” He takes a seat on the couch, if only because he can’t quite trust his legs to keep him upright for the entire course of the conversation. “What did you guys talk about?”

“Lots of things. Life in France,” he says. “Life in the states. Individual freedom and the formal institution of marriage.”

“Do you believe in mbarriage?”

Vincent looks at him. “I think I believe in it just as much as everyone else does,” he says. Then, after a moment: “It worked out for my parents.”

“The busidess competition proved to be a good edough reason?”

Vincent traces a finger down the spine of the book, over the gold lettering. His shoulders settle. “They weren’t in love when they got married,” he says. Hearing him state it so plainly comes as a surprise to Yves. “Strictly speaking, I’m not sure if they ever were in love. But I think they came to love each other eventually.”

“What about you?” Yves asks. “Do you think you’ll fall in love someday?”

“Is that really something I’d choose?” Vincent says. “It either happens or it doesn’t.”

“Sure, but there are plenty of ways you can seek out love actively.”

“If I found something worth pursuing, I’d go after it,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs. “That’s very like you.” he wonders what kind of person Vincent might be drawn to enough to see as worth pursuing. Wonders if, after all of this is over, he’ll even be in Vincent’s life for long enough to know.

His head hurts. The slight prickle of irritation in his sinuses is already tiringly familiar.

“hHEh… HeHh’IIDZSCH-yyiEW!” The sneeze snaps him forward at the waist, messy and spraying. He reaches for the tissue box Vincent left him this morning, still nestled into the crook of the couch, and grabs a generous handful of tissues. “Hh… hehh-HEh-HhehHh’IIzSSCH-iEEw! Hh…. HEHh’DJSCCHh-IEew!”

The sneezes leave him coughing, afterwards. His throat feels raw and tender—he raises the tissues back up to his face to blow his nose.

“You sound worse than you did last night,” Vincent says, with a frown.

Yves opens his mouth to speak, but he finds himself coughing again. He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to be seen when he’s like this by someone who’s usually so well put together. “I’b a little prone to losidg my voice when I’m sick,” he admits. “It’s pretty incodvedient.”

“I’m probably not making it any better by talking to you,” Vincent says. That might be true—Yves is half sure that any time he does lose his voice, it’s because he typically makes no effort to converse any less than usual—but Yves likes talking to Vincent. Besides, they haven’t talked all day.

He opens his mouth to say as much, but then Vincent asks: “How are you feeling?”

“Good as new,” Yves says. When Vincent raises an eyebrow, at that, he amends: “Good enough for tomorrow, at least. The ceremony doesn’t start until three, but I’ll probably be up earlier to see if there’s anything else Aimee and Genevieve ndeed help with.”

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “If anything comes up, I can help.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’m offering.”

“I can handle it on my own. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, I— hHHEh’IDJZSCHh-yyEW! snf-! I’mb really fine. I swear.”

“Yves—”

“I’ve done this before,” he insists, which is true, too—he’s certainly been through worse. It would be wrong to put himself first, to take things easy when he might be needed still. “It doesn’t have to be your problem.”

For a moment, there’s something there, to Vincent’s expression—a flash of something that looks suspiciously close to hurt. Then it’s gone. When he blinks, Vincent’s expression is carefully neutral, as usual. He wonders if he’d imagined it.

“Okay,” he says. He sets the book gingerly on the bedside counter, and pulls the cord on the lamp. Darkness engulfs the bedroom. “You should sleep soon, if you’re able to.” A pause. The rustling of sheets. “Goodnight.” Yves wants to say something. He has a feeling that he’s messed things up, somehow, though he’s not entirely sure how.

But what can he say? He just—he just wants, desperately, for all of this to be okay. He wants the wedding to go just as planned, wants to be as present and as reliable as Aimee deserves for him to be. All of that responsibility falls on him and him alone, doesn’t it?

“Goodnight,” Yves says, instead.

[ Part 4 ]

#sneeze fic #snz fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snzfic #this chapter turned out to be kind of personal to me in some ways?#i am so sorry if it feels uneventful 😭#i have done so much googling on so many things that did not make it in (and a few that made it in only peripherally)#work is killing me and i am stressed out of my mind so i am posting this before i get swept away and am unable to edit for a week #next chapter will be the wedding for real!#and i will be mean for real when i get to writing it 🙇‍♀️#yvverse #my fic #thank you to anyone who has left nice tags/comments on previous parts :') it's hard to express the full extent of my gratitude but #thank you for making my life a little happier

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tteokdoroki · 8 months

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✩࿐TRACK 06: BESIDE YOU. denki kaminari (2K)

about. upon finally escaping your toxic ex, your friends do a little scheming which leads to a hook up with an old high school friend looking for something more.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! suggestive, sfw, slight angst, fluff, happy ending, weed mention, mutual pining, make outs, old friends to lovers, love confessions, fem!reader, pro hero!kaminari.

things to note. eee here it is!! the final fic, thank you for joining me on this journey. i’m quite proud of myself for completing a project like this!! enjoy my loves! special thanks to @maliciouslove for beta reading mwah - masterlist / series masterlist / series playlist ✩

you don’t go to parties.

something about them makes it hard for you to find the appeal in bass boosted music and sweaty bodies complied into one uncomfortably tight space. the drinks are never to your liking, cheap and sour at house parties but overly priced and bitter at the clubs your friends drag you to on the weekends.

you don’t go to parties because of the people too.

sure it’s fun, when you’re dancing up on your friends, sharing a giggle and snapping selfies that’ll serve as reminders of your youth when your knees grow a little too fragile for the excessive ass shaking and grinding on your girls. but then as soon as you start to feel yourself loosening up, a drunk stranger who meets the bare minimum will start hitting on one of your friends and the other will be dragged away to dance amongst a circle of them with the promise of texting you when they’re safe (and done fucking randos) for the night.

one by one, they typically leave you to fend for yourself until you end up at the shitty bar getting pity drinks from the bar tender. often while another drunk stranger (who’s so pissed that they can’t tell their nose from their toes) tries to flirt with you until you feel physically sick.

you don’t go to parties, because you’ve never needed them. your friends tell you that they’re a great place to meet people and mingle, perhaps even date — but you’ve had no need to ‘organically’ meet people up until recently, being tied down to your ex and all. the way you’d met had been super cute too, he’d worked at a coffee shop you frequented on the way to your 9-5 job and one day grew the confidence to leave his number on your cup. you had spent hours deliberating on what to text him, settling for a simple ‘hey :) <3’ and the rest had been blissful history.

of course he started treating you like shit and dumped you for the next best thing.

so lately (with the hope that you would start getting over him) your friends have been hauling your sorry ass to whatever motive they could find — even if the event had been hosted by some rando on the street.

that’s how you ended up with an exclusive invite to a house party full of pro heroes. your friends had gone snooping into people you knew from high school and encountered mina ashidou, who you worked closely with as a student on the support course. she was more than happy to help you soothe your scars and find some new meat at one of her monthly rager house parties. and of course your friends snapped up the chance to try their luck with your old (now) pro hero friends.

to say you were nervous to see everyone again was an understatement, and for most of the night you kept to being a fly on the wall — watching the alcohol induced antics ensue. you don’t even want to be here, surrounded by people from your past who are clearly doing much better in life than you are right now.

this is so stupid.

why did you even think that coming here would do you any good? listening to your out-going, party-goer friends was probably the worst decision you’ve ever made. who were you kidding? coming to this place to make your ex jealous? like that would work in a million years. you really should just leave before anyone notices, tell them you felt sick and that you couldn’t do this. mina would surely understand—

“there you are, cutie. i almost didn’t recognise you!” looking up at the sound of a velvety, yet, chipper voice — you rack your brain to match its tone with the pair of sunrise-gold eyes peering down at you. “still stuck in your head i see. you remember me?”

“k-kaminari!” you squeak out the syllables of the electric blonde’s name — shocked and surprised that pro hero chargebolt would even recognise you after all the time that’s passed since high school. from what you can remember about back then, denki kaminari was a friend of mina’s and so a friend of yours by extension. he was a good guy, struggled with his quirk but genuinely tried his best. “hi! how are you?”

as if the blonde hadn’t heard your question, he swoops down to meet your height and presses an arm against the wall just above your head — asking you to repeat the question with a gentle smile.

“what was that, sweetheart?

you think you might fucking pass out from how close denki is. his citrusy cologne overwhelms your senses and from this close, you can tell how much he’s grown. through the smokiness of the party — the joints and the cigarettes, you can see that he’s much leaner and taller than when you were in school, with the right amount of muscle as well. his golden skin glows under mina’s party lights, his eyes are sleek and sensual but inviting too, and he’s so handsome you can feel yourself beginning to swim.

swallowing thickly, you stutter out. “i said…how are you?”

“oh!” denki chuckles, the sound shooting straight through you warmly. “i’m doing good, better now that i’ve found you here cutie! mina told me you were coming.” cocking his head, he gives you the once over and that same smile from before returns to his pretty face. “you look good, i’ll admit, my jaw practically hit the floor when i first saw you from across the room.”

what the fuck is going on here?

while you’re flustered and certainly enjoying the attention from an old schoolmate — you can’t seem to piece together the puzzle, asking yourself exactly why he would be flirting with you. you haven’t seen denki since graduation aside from his TV appearances and marketing campaigns (which, by the way, his PR team are doing amazing at), so you’re confused as to what he wanted with you.

wishing the wall or the floor would swallow you whole — you press your hands gently into denki’s broad shoulders to push him away from you, surprised when he doesn’t budge. “uh…kaminari…”

“hmm?”

grimacing, you avoid looking him in the eye, knowing you’ll melt into a puddle if you do. “why are you suddenly flirting with me?”

for a moment, the blonde looks taken aback but he quickly blinks the expression away and smirks down at you again. “‘cause i’m into you, duh!” you flinch when his soft hands (slightly rough due to his quirk) tilt your chin upwards and you lose yourself in his amber irises. “come on, lemme take you somewhere? i wanna be able to talk to you properly.” you frown in suspicion which only makes denki laugh cheekily. “promise i’m not a serial killer. i’m a hero now, remember?”

relenting, you let the electric hero lead you away from the bustling crowd infiltrating the living room, hallways and kitchen — swallowing your heartbeat when he drags you up the stairs to one of ashido’s unoccupied bedrooms. kaminari has you seated on sheets with a thread count so high you fear they might cost half of your rent for the month. he clambers onto the bed beside you, so close that your shoulders bump and you can feel the warmth of his skin bleeding into yours.

“so now that it’s just you and i… no other guys,” he purrs into the shell of your ear, coaxing you backwards into the sheets. there’s no interruptions, just you and him. “we can finally catch up a little, huh, cutie?”

“uhuh…” you nod dumbly as you feel denki’s hand traverse up your thighs, stopping just under the hem of your shirt while he crawls on top of you. it’s nice, having someone touch you like this after so long, after your ex — but there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you that this isn’t genuine or real. “w-wait!” you squeak when kaminari’s lips drop to your jawline, working their way up to your own.

denki, from what you’ve gathered, is a renowned fuck boy. now that he’s a little hotter (not that he wasn��t before) and more charming, he and his little friend sero hanta had been playing lucky dip with their dicks across the population right up until recently — when sero found himself in a long distance relationship. you had just gotten out of a long-term one yourself and you weren’t even sure if you could handle just having a bit of fun right now.

the blonde peels away from you, faster than the speed of light, sitting back on his haunches. “hey, are you okay?”

“yeah i’m just—“ you’re sure that you look a mess, clothes askew and chest heaving — but you have to make sure that this won’t be a mistake. “how do i know that you even like me, kaminari? we haven’t spoken in years, i just got out of a relationship and you’ve got this reputation now—“

it’s like kaminari can sense that you’re nervous and hesitant but just as easily as he can do that, he can also tell how badly you want this. “i’ve always liked you,” he says easily, unafraid, much unlike you. “but you never took me seriously back then. ‘nd i’m different now, i’m not nearly as slutty as you think.”

even in the darkness you can see a genuine glow to the electric hero’s golden eyes — you feel yourself trusting in him despite the charming front he puts up. “you made it a thing, yanno?” he continues, voice dipping into lower octaves that have your skin erupting in goosebumps. “in high school, you used to make a point of telling me that i’m not your type.” denki is all over you again, but he doesn’t push the boundaries of what you consent to. his hands only move further up when you let him, his nose pressed against your neck when you say yes. his lips on your skin when you plead. “how about now, cutie? judging by your reactions, i think i know what’s on your mind."

doubts and worries swirl around in your mind like a grade four hurricane. he’s making you dizzy, his scent, his smile, his words are driving you insane but you can’t help but worry. having sex with denki wouldn’t be the same has making love with someone you were once committed to but he still wants you, despite everything you’ve gone through.

tilting your head up to face him, the electric blonde pulls you from your thoughts. “don’t worry, cutie. we won’t do anything you don’t want to.” he simpers, his canines just grazing your bottom lip. “but if you want me like i want you. then i’m here. anything to sate ya, beautiful.”

“okay,” you swallow thickly, your shaky fingers coming up to rest on kaminari’s shoulders. “i want you.”

“yeah?” he interrogates you lightly, searching through the sexual tension in the air for your absolute consent. bowing your body into denki’s, you breathe a quiet but firm ‘yes’ which gives him to go ahead to push your legs apart with his knee. you’re so ready for him already and the fun has barely begun, your breathing hot and heavy as you cover your face at the indecent moans you let out. “don’t be shy, you decide how far we go tonight — i just wanna make you mine.”

and with that, you decide to trust denki with the shattered pieces of your heart — accepting the sloppy kiss you find yourself locked in when he swoops down to give you one. soon after that, a haze falls over your mind and the night quickly falls away.

when you wake up the next morning, patches of your body are sore and bruised just under the skin — littered with an array of deep blues, purples and burgundies from where kaminari had insisted on marking you all night. theres a tenderness between your legs that makes a pulse of heat dance across your face as light bulb memories from your late night activities flash in your mind.

you’re still at mina’s place, judging by the fact that your bed is not your bed and your clothes are crumpled on the floor where you usually would have tossed them on the back of your desk chair. rubbing at your eyes, you note that your makeup is definitely ruined, remembering that denki liked to see you cry — the aforementioned blonde nowhere to be found either.

panic seizes your chest, intertwined with your lungs and your heart like the prickly vines of a pesky weed. had he left without a word? surely he didn’t regret last night? surely you weren’t that bad of a fuck? tears begin to flood your eyes, you’d trusted denki with a part of you that only your ex had seen and now he was gone like the wind too.

you’re too caught up in your pity fest to notice the bedroom door creak open, however, only looking up when it slams shut and a sheepish denki is standing before it. “i-i brought you breakfast,” he stumbles over his words in an attempt to rush over to you with arms full of what smells like hashbrowns and breakfast muffins. “i-i got hungry and figured you would be too. i really did a number on you last night— oh please don’t cry, cutie!”

“i’m not crying!” you damn near screech, trying to hide your face from him. in a way, it’s sort of adorable how denki looks with his hair all messed up and marks of yours littered down his neck and what you can see if his shoulders. his golden eyes, so warm and charming, erratically search your face for any sign of pain as you dab away your own tears.

“i texted too! i had to bug mina for your number before i left. which meant waking her up and she almost killed me — i’m sorry, maybe I should have woken you up too—“ in three short strides, denki crosses to the room and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling you into his arms after abandoning the food. it’s nice, being held like you matter to someone. it was never like that with your ex.

but in your heart of hearts, you started to believe the words he told you at your break up. that you wouldn’t be able to move on, that your dependency on him would be the only thing to hold you back…and he was right. pitifully so. because while you’d shared an amazing night with kaminari, an old school friend, you were spending the morning-after crying your eyes out in front of him because you were afraid he’d leave. he owed you nothing!

“we should’ve never done this,” you hiccup pathetically despite how denki rocks your bodies back and forth to calm you down. “h-he was right… i’m so stupid!”

blonde eyebrows meet at the centre of denki’s forehead as he frowns deeply. not at you, never at you. he had heard the rumours about your ex and the downfall of your seemingly happy relationship, hell, it had even shocked him to see your relationship status on social media change from committed to single. that didn’t mean everything was as it seemed, nor that you deserved to have your heart ripped in two.

“fuck that,” the electric hero whispers a little too quietly at first, just barely heard over your sniffles and sobs while he sways you both. “fuck that guy. that’s a fucking lie and you know it!.”

“k-kaminari!” you squeak in surprise, looking up at him with wide doe eyes.

shaking his head, he meets your gaze with frenzied sunshine eyes of his own. “this wasn’t a mistake to me, i really fucking wanted you, i always have,” he begins, using a knuckle to brush a stray tear from your cheek. “your ex was an asshole, but his love could have never felt right if he treated you so badly. made you feel like this.” next, denki presses his forehead to yours, hoping that his reassurances are enough. “maybe I’ve gone about this the wrong way, sleeping with you first and buying you dinner…breakfast… second. but i’ve always liked you, and i want to be the one beside you from now on…if you say it’s alright?”

you’re not pleased to admit that kaminari makes you cry all over again — happy to admit that it’s for a different reason. because even after all this time apart, the blonde still wants you and only you. you’d be a fool not to switch sides and be with him. someone who likes you for you, they way you could like him.

so you giggle, allow kaminari to wipe your nose and call you pretty while you breathe out a quiet. “yeah, it’s alright…”

#kaminari x reader #kaminari smut #kaminari fluff #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #bnha x you #kaminari x you #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x you #my hero academia x reader #kaminari imagines #mha x reader #mha x you #mha smut #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

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